I 


I  I    III  lil M  II      Mil  i    II! 


Library  of  the 
University  of  North  Carolina 


Endowed  by  the  Dialectic  and  Philan- 
thropic Societies 


EXTENSION  DIVISION 

808.8 

WAQ       :fcZ7      C4fM 


Werner's 
Readings  and  Recitations 

No.  27 


HELEN    POTTER'S 
IMPERSONATIONS 


T5I 


1^ 


V 


New  York 
EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  CO. 


Copyright,  1891,  by  Edgar  S.  Werner 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/helenpottersimpe27newy 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Illustrations vi 

Studies  of  Persons  and  of  Pieces vii 

Author's  Preface ix 

TTow  to  Prepare  Impersonations xi 

pare  of  the  Voice,  Health,  etc xv 

The  Artist's  Make  -up  and  Toilet xviii 

Explanation  of  Signs,  Abbreviations,  etc xxiii 


After  the  Ball.     Samuel  Mintura  Peck 148 

After  the  Wedding.     William  L.  Keese 200 

All.     Francis  A.  Durivage 174 

American  Art.     Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe 17 

American  Feast,  The 33 

Apostrophe  to  the  Watermelon 199 

Ballad  of  the  Lost  Bride 150 

Ballet  Girl,  The 68 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic.     Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe 18 

Beatrice.     As  rendered  by  Adelaide  Neilson 179 

Blunders.     John  B.  (rough. 1 

Brutus's  Address.     As  rendered  by  E.  L.  Davenport 129 

Camp-Meeting  Hymn,  A 11 

Cardinal  Richelieu.     As  rendered  by  Edwin  Booth 62 

Cassius  to  Brutus.     As  rendered  by  Lowvonco  ^Jqr^ett 125 

Chemist  to  His  Love,  The 58 

Chinese  Sketch 47 

Cleopatra.     As  rendered  by  Helen  Potter 112 

Declaration  of  Rights  of  the  Women  of  the  United  States.     Eliza- 
beth Cady  Stanton 91 

Dogberry  and  Verges.     As  rendered  by  Helen  Potter 175 

Dona  Sol.     As  rendered  by  Sarah  Bernhardt   108 

Evening,  At.     J.  T.  Newcomb 194 

For  Your  Own  Sakes.     Anna  Dickinson 190 

Fourth  of  July 77 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

From  the  Sublime  to  the  Ridiculous. 107 

Girls.     Olive  Logan ' 149 

Hamlet.     As  rendered  by  Edwin  Booth 158 

Ike  Partington  After  the  Opera 198 

I  Told  You  So ..'.....    117 

Jakey  and  Old  Jacob , 140 

Jubilee  Song H9 

Juliet.     As  rendered  by  Adelaide  Neilson 78 

Katharine  of  Aragon.     As  rendered  by  Charlotte  Cushman. ....     23 

Lady-Killer,  The.     Frederic  Maccabe 69 

La  Musica  Trionfante.     T.  W.  Parsons 178 

Large  and  Small  Bosses t   143 

Lecture  on  Art.     Oscar  Wilde 195 

Literary  Curiosity,  A , 188 

Lord's  Prayer  in  Welsh,  The 40 

Mary  Stuart.     As  rendered  by  Helen  Potter « 136 

Meg  Merrilies.     As  rendered  by  Charlotte  Cushman 152 

Michael  Angelo.     William  Parsons 41 

My  Own  Native  Land 19 

Negro  Boatman's  Song,  The 118 

Newspapers.     Rev.  T.  Dewitt  Talmage 95 

Nydia,  the  Blind  Girl  of  Pompeii.     Lord  Lytton 34 

Oh!  Rest  Thee,  Babe 153 

On  Trial  For  Voting.     Susan  B.  Anthony 12 

Ophelia      As  rendered  by  Mme.  Helena  Modjeska 165 

Othello.     As  rendered  by  Toinmaso  Salvini 216 

Passions,  The.     William  Collins 203 

Peter  Gray  and  Lizianny  Querl 182 

Pious  Punster,  A 189 

Portia   and   Nerissa.      As   rendered   by   Mrs.    Mary   F.    Scott- 

Siddons 98 

Portia  at  the  Bar.     As  rendered  by  Miss  Ellen  Terry 103 

Prince  Arthur.     As  rendered  by  Helen  Potter 1S3 

Queen  Elizabeth.     As  rendered  by  Mme.  Adelaide  Ristori 132 

Reading-Class,  The 86 

Rosalind.     As  rendered  by  Mme.  Helena  Modjeska 72 

Russian  Soldier,  Rest.     Robert  J.  Burdette 131 

Scenes  from  "  The  Tempest."     As  rendered  by  Fanny  Kemble. .     50 

Sea  Bird's  Fate,  The.     John  Boyle  O'Reilly 181 

Sermon  on  Lincoln.     Henry  Ward  Beecher 120 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE. 

Silent  Letters.      A  Study  of  Visible  Expression ;   A  Study  of 

Audible  Expression  ;  Tripartite  Expression 212 

Sisters,  The.     John  G.  Whittier 192 

Sleep- Walking  Scene.     As  rendered  by  Helen  Potter 83 

Song.     Aubrey  De  Vere 22 

Speech  of  Abraham  Lincoln  at  Gettysburg 115 

Tableaux,  A  Series  of.     Arranged  by  Helen  Potter 207 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  A.     0.  E.  Melichar 144 

Temperance.     John  B.  Gough   7 

Ten  Commandments  in  Welsh,  The 39 

Ten  Sevens,  The "... 71 

Toast,  A 151 

Tramp's  Soliloquy,  The 16 

Trial  of  Queen   Katharine,   The.      As   rendered   by  Charlotte 

Cushman 20 

Two  Good  Points Ill 

Vision  of  War,  A.     Robert  Ingersoll.     (With  tableaux.) 122 

Wolsey's  Soliloquy.     As  rendered  by  George  Vandenhoff 28 

Women  All  At  Sea 59 


STUDIES. 


OF  PERSONS. 

PAGB. 

Anthony,  Susan  B.:  Speech,  "On  Trial  for  Voting." 12 

Barrett,  Lawrence  :  As  Cassias 125 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward  :  Sermon  on  Lincoln 120 

Bernhardt,  Sarah  :  As  Dona  Sol.     (French  and  English  text).. . .  108 

Booth,  Edwin :  As  Hamlet.     (With  music) 158 

"           "         As  Richelieu.     (In  two  parts) 62 

Cushman,  Charlotte :  As  Q men  Katharine 20 

"                  "            As  Katharine  of  Aragon 23 

"                 "           As  Meg  Merrilies.     (With  music) 152 

Davenport,  E.  L.:  As  Br  at  as 129 

Dickinson,  Anna:  Lecture,    'For  Your  Own  Sakes." 190 

Gough,  John  B.:  Lecture,  "Blunders." 1 

"           "                "           '•Temperance.'' 7 

Howe,  Julia  Ward  :  Lecture,  "American  Art." 17 

Ingersoll,  Robert:  Speech,  "A  Vision  of  "War." 122 

Kemble,  Frances  Anne:  Readings  from  "The  Tempest." 50 

Lincoln,  Abraham:  "  Gettysburg  Speech." 115 

Logan,  Olive  :  Lecture,  "Girls." 149 

Maccabe,  Frederic:  Lecture,  "The  Lady-Killer." 69 

Modjeska,  Helena  :  As  Rosalind  72 

"        As  Ophelia.     (With  music) 165 

Neilson,  Adelaide  :  As  Juliet 78 

"                "          As  Beatrice 179 

Parsons,  William:  Lecture,  "Michael  Angeln." 41 

Ristori,   Adelaide  :    As   Queen  Elizabeth.     (Italian  and  English 

text) 132 

Salvini,  Tommaso  :  As  Othello.     (With  music) 216 

Scott- Siddons,  Mary  F.:  Reading,  "Portia  and  Nerissa." 98 

Stanton.  Elizabeth  Cady  :  Address,  "  Declaration  of  Rights." 91 

Talmage,  T.  Dewitt.     Lecture,  "  Newspapers." 95 

Terry,  Ellen.     As  Portia 103 

Vandenhoff,  George.     In  "  Wolsey's  Soliloquy." 128 

Wilde,  Oscar.     Lecture,  "  Art." 195 


viii  STUDIES. 

OF  PIECES. 

ANALYZED    BY    HELEN    POTTER. 

PAGE. 

Chinese  Sketch.     Music  by  Edgar  S.  Kelley 47 

Cleopatra 112 

Dogberry  and  Verges 175 

Mary  Stuart,  in  the  "  Garden  Scene. " 136 

Nydia,  the  Blind  Girl  of  Pompeii 34 

Passions,  The.     William  Collins.     (With  tableaux.  1 203 

Prince  Arthur 183 

Silent  Letters.     A  Study  of  Visible,  Audible  and  Tripartite  Ex- 
pression   212 

Sleep-Walking  Scene 83 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE. 


In  all  ages  we  have  had  artists  and  orators ;  people  who 
held  the  "  sacred  fire  "  as  their  inheritance  among  men — 
an  inheritance  more  powerful  than  gold,  or  wonderful  jew- 
els, or  landed  estates.  These  men  and  women  were  leaders 
of  their  time,  and  even  unto  this  day  are  held  in  great  ven- 
eration and  esteem.  And  the  works  of  artists  in  clay, 
marble,  and  iron,  and  on  canvas  are  enduring,  and  eagerly 
sought  for.  But  the  most  wonderful  of  all,  the  power  of  the 
human  voice,  goes  to  the  winds  and  is  lost  forever.  Seek 
as  we  may,  the  winds  tell  us  not  of  these  masters  of  oratory 
and  song.  Their  master  tones  reach  not  our  ears,  and  we 
know  of  their  power  only  by  tradition. 

Now,  with  what  skill  we  have,  we  will  endeavor  to  per- 
petuate some  of  the  work  of  our  own  time.  The  work  of  a 
few  of  the  best  orators  and  artists  of  this  age  and  people, 
we  will  record,  as  accurately  as  our  methods  of  annotation 
will  allow.  Yet,  work  as  we  may,  our  works  perish  to  the 
outer  senses.  But  there  is  an  inner  sense  that  supersedes 
all  other  senses,  as  far  as  mountains  excel  molehills.  This 
sense  is  sometimes  called  "  intuition  ;  "  sometimes  "  the 
sixth  sense."  That  we  have  this  sixth  sense  can  be  proven ; 
but  the  power  is  dumb  from  neglect  and  abuse.  If  we  seek 
for  it  aright,  we  may  reasonably  expect  it  to  become  mani- 
fest, and  serve  us  as  a  guide  in  after  years  Truth  is  eternal. 
That  we  do  not  know  the  truth  is  our  misfortune  and  affects 
it  not  at  all.  The  blind  may  doubt  the  existence  of  light, 
but  the  fact  remains.  So  with  our  latent  powers — that  we 
are  wholly  unconscious  of  them  proves  nothing.  That  we 
have  dormant  faculties  which  may  yet  become  factors  for 


x  AUTHORS  PREFACE. 

untold  pleasure  and  pain,  is  more  than  possible.  Who  can 
say  after  the  advent  of  the  phonograph,  that  we  may  not 
yet  be  able  to  extract  music  from  the  walls  that  surrounded 
the  great  masters  of  ages  past.  Then*  what  a  privilege 
would  be  ours  ;  then  could  we  go,  as  did  the  students  of 
old,  and  receive  their  lessons  again  and  again. 

As  yet,  we  are  a  young  nation,  and,  heretofore,  our  op- 
portunities for  special  training  in  artistic  work  have  not 
been  all  that  we  could  desire.  Hence  our  native  talent  has 
been  largely  thrown  upon  its  own  resources  for  develop- 
ment, and  crude  work  has  often  been  the  result.  But  if  our 
artistic  work  has  been  crude,  it  has  been  full  of  life  and 
vigor.  The  natural  current,  untrammeled  by  ancient  cus- 
tom and  conventional  processes,  has  been  left  free  to  flow 
out,  and  develop  its  own  individuality.  Then,  too,  the 
public  has  been  good-natured  and  indulgent,  for  which  we 
are  truly  thankful. 

The  writer,  although  unusually  well  received  and  sus- 
tained by  both  the  public  and  the  press  of  this  country,  has 
never  reached  her  ideal  in  her  platform  work  ;  and  it  is 
with  a  sincere  desire  to  be  of  service  to  students  of  dramatic 
art  and  oratory  that  she  has  been  led  to  prepare  this  oft- 
solicited  volume  of  "  Impersonations."  Other  matter,  relat- 
ing to  oratory  and  dramatic  art,  and  still  more  practical 
hints  to  beginners,  will  probably  follow.  The  students  of 
to-day  have  many  advantages  over  those  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago.  Then  we  knew  nothing  of  the  great  master, 
Francois  Delsarte,  and  his  wonderful  science  and  art  of  ex- 
pression. We  had  no  "  Werner's  Voice  Magazine,"  devoted 
exclusively  to  vocal  culture,  and  filled  with  finely  illustrated 
articles  from  our  ablest  teachers  and  critics.  For  all  these 
things  we  should  be  grateful,  and  apply  ourselves  dili- 
gently to  attain  "  the  heights." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


TO  STUDENTS. 
HOW  TO  PREPARE  IMPERSONATIONS. 


TO    STUDY    A    LECTURER. 

Provided  with  a  small  note-book  and  several  short,  sharp 
pencils,  repair  to  the  lecture-room,  and  take  a  seat  in  the 
middle  of  the  hall,  and  directly  in  front  of  the  speaker. 

1.  Note  his  entrance  upon  the  platform. — Does  he  come  on 
hurriedly,  and  nervously  arrange  his  desk  and  papers;  or 
does  he  enter  deliberately,  and  be  seated  ?  Does  he  recog- 
nize his  audience  before  or  after  he  arrives  at  the  desk  ? 
Is  the  recognition  formal  and  dignified,  or  off-hand  and 
familiar  ? 

2.  Observe  the  general  characteristics  of  the  speaker. — Note  his 
dominant  controlling  spirit,  before  you  begin  taking  notes. 
Is  he  modest  or  pretentious  ;  self-conscious  or  lost  in  his 
theme;  does  he  reason  or  assert;  is  he  master  of  his  sub- 
ject or  is  he  bandying  words ;  is  he  earnest  and  sincere  in 
what  he  says,  or  is  he  practicing  upon  the  credulity  of  his 
hearers;  is  he  transparent  or  concealing  his  true  motive  ? 
Having  obtained  some  definite  notion  of  the  speaker  as  a 
whole,  jot  it  down  briefly.  A  few  explicit  adjectives  will 
prove  sufficient,  and  save  time  for  a  more  strictly  analytical 
study  of  him  and  his  peculiarities. 

3.  Note  his  dress,  and  make  some  sketches. 

4.  Note  his  attitudes  and  gestures. — Does  he  stand  with  a 
wide  or  narrow  base  (i.  e.,  with  his  feet  close  together,  or 
far  apart)  ?  Does  he  stand  firm,  with  his  weight  on  both 
feet,  or  limp  and  aesthetic,  or  is  his  position  easy  and  firm, 
without  being  either  ?  As  to  his  gestures,  are  they  varied 
or  stereotyped  ?     If  stereotyped,  what  are  they  ?     Are  they 


xii      HOW  TO  PREPARE  IMPERSONATIONS. 

up  and  down,  oblique  or  horizontal,  with  closed  fist  or  index 
finger  ?  Does  he  pound  the  desk,  or  shake  his  hand,  with 
spread  fingers,  high  above  his  head  ?  And,  finally,  is  he 
all  action,  or  no  action  ? 

5.  Notice  his  peculiarities  of  voice,  etc. — Is  his  voice  nasal  or 
pure,  sharp  or  flat,  heavy  or  light,  metallic  or  liquid,  rough 
or  smooth,  high-pitched  or  low7-pitched,  agreeable  or  disa- 
greeable ?  Then,  does  he  hold  the  vow^els  or  the  conso- 
nants ?  Are  they  the  nasal-continuants  [m,  n,  ng)  only,  or 
do  they  include  r,  I,  and  other  consonants  (e.  g.,  opening 
uasal-contiuuants,  mmove,  nnd,  rrise,  llife,  wwdste ;  closing 
nasal-continuants,  bldmrne,  begdnn,  singng,  thrilll,  rdshsh, 
mille,  etc.)  ?  Holding  vowel-sounds  is  far  more  common  and 
more  easily  detected ;  as  \\de-i\x\,  wr-a-th,  M<?-ses,  arrival, 
p<?ace-ful,  etc. 

6.  Does  he  speak  two  or  three  syllables  rapidly,  then  dwell 
upon  one  f — Does  this  occur  somewhat  rhythmically;  i.e., 
at  regular  intervals  ? 

7.  Do  his  sentences  generally  end  with  the  rising  inflection,  or 
the  falling,  or  with  compound  inflections  ? — You  may  have  but 
one  opportunity  to  study  a  speaker,  and  all  your  observa- 
tions must  be  taken  at  one  sitting.  A  preacher  affords 
greater  opportunity  for  study,  yet  it  is  much  better  to  take 
all  possible  notes  at  one  discourse ;  then  if  the  sermon  or 
lecture  be  published,  or  reviewed  at  length,  you  can  easily 
obtain  the  required  text,  and  apply  your  notes  and  marks 
thereunto,  and  your  impersonation  is  finished  and  ready 
for  use.  In  case  the  text  remains  unpublished,  it  can  be 
procured  by  a  stenographer,  or  perhaps  by  personal  in- 
fluence. 

TO    STUDY    AN    ACTOR. 

This  is  far  more  difficult,  because  the  one  you  desire  to 
study  is  connected  with  and  dependent  upon  other  people, 
and  you  are  obliged  to  make  a  monologue  out  of  all  of  these 
combined  situations,  movements,  and  tableaux.     You  have 


HOW  TO  PREPARE  IMPERSONATIONS      xiii 

to  portray  the  unseen  characters  by  your  action  and  deliv- 
ery while  identifying  yourself  with  only  one  It  may  be 
necessary  to  see  the  play  three  times.  The  tirst  time,  for  the 
plot  or  story,  and  to  discover  the  strongest  situations,  cli- 
maxes, etc. ;  the  second  time  for  the  costumes,  special  walk, 
attitudes  and  gestures  ;  the  third  time  for  the  peculiarities 
of  the  artist's  elocution,  his  voice,  pitch,  force,  time,  etc. 

Sometimes  it  is  necessary  to  take  all  your  notes  at  a 
single  performance.  In  that  case,  you  should  procure  a 
copy  of  the  play  beforehand,  if  possible,  and  select  one  or 
more  monologue  scenes  to  study.  Sketch  the  costumes,  and 
write  the  colors  and  materials  upon  the  sketches  before  the 
artist  arrives  at  the  monologue  text,  dividing  your  attention 
between  the  play-book  and  the  stage.  At  this  point,  cease 
all  writing  and  sketching,  and  concentrate  your  mind  upon 
the  stage,  and  follow  the  artist  you  are  studying  every  mo- 
ment until  the  scene  is  over.  Let  his  every  expression,  atti- 
tude, gesture,  voice,  and  all,  enter  your  brain  to  stay  there  ; 
let  it  be  "burnt  in."  As  soon  as  he  has  finished  the  text 
selected  for  the  monologue,  write  out  all  you  can  recall  of 
the  manner,  action  and  elocution  of  the  artist,  and  number 
the  notes  to  correspond  with  numbers  you  will  place  upon 
the  text  where  the  notes  apply.  After  the  performance, 
retire  to  some  quiet  place,  and  go  over  the  notes  and  text, 
adding  such  notes  of  action,  voice,  and  manner,  as  may 
have  been  omitted  in  the  hurry  of  the  performance.  Do 
not  fail  to  do  this  while  it  is  fresh  in  your  mind ;  to-morrow 
the  pictures  will  not  be  so  vivid,  and  the  day  after  they 
may  be  faded  nearly  away.  Afterward,  copy  and  elabo- 
rate your  work  for  use,  and  file  away  the  original  text  or 
play-book  for  future  reference. 

Next  comes  the  costuming  of  the  impersonation.  In 
buying  material,  it  is  economy  to  buy  goods  made  of  a 
single  material ;  i.  e.,  all  silk,  or  all  wool,  etc.  Mixed 
goods,  as  a  rule,  soon  look  shabby  and  mean.     Of  one  thing 


xiv        HO IV  TO  PREPARE  IMPERSONATIONS. 

be  assured  at  the  outset,  and  that  is,  that  the  prettiest  cos- 
tumes are  not  necessarily  the  most  expensive.  Taste  and 
judgment  in  selecting  colors,  styles  and  combinations, 
complementary  to  your  own  individual  self,  is  the  key  to 
charming  attire.  Soft,  delicately-tinted  cashmeres,  draped 
in  antique  style,  are  exceedingly  becoming  for  evening 
wear,  and  with  simple  ornamentation  are  quite  inexpensive. 
Young  persons  should  avoid  velvets  and  heavy  silks,  as 
they  detract  from  the  youthful  appearance,  and  make  one 
look  heavy,  dull,  and  uncomfortable.  And,  again,  if  you 
select  characters  suited  to  your  youth — which  it  is  sincerely 
hoped  you  will — you  will  not  require  them.  Do  not,  while 
young,  try  to  impersonate  old  or  disagreeable  characters. 
There  will  be  time  enough  for  that  when  your  youth  is 
past ;  and,  beside,  the  world  delights  to  look  on  youth,  and 
prefers  to  carry  away  from  an  entertainment  only  thoughts 
of  gladness,  joy,  and  sunshine.  Therefore,  however  much 
you  may  desire  to  do  heavy  tragedy,  or  raving  maniacs, 
"  Don't !  "  and  be  persuaded  to  do  only  bright  and  agree- 
able things,  and  comedy.* 

The  dress  should  be  the  setting  and  not  the  gem.  A 
golden  angel  could  not  sing,  or  thrill  us  with  eloquent  dis- 
course, though  set  with  diamonds,  rubies  and  sapphires ;  it 
is  the  living  angel,  with  the  living  voice,  that  wafts  us  from 
earth  on  wings  of  eloquence  or  song.  Therefore,  let  your 
voice  be  attuned,  your  text  well  committed,  your  costumes 
suitable  and  artistic  ;  then,  forgetting  all  these  things,  let 
your  soul  shine  forth.  This  is  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter 

*  Ths  writer,  with  scores  of  otherss  made  this  mistake,  and  also  the  mistake 
of  putting  too  much  money  into  costumes.  The  most  expensive  things  were 
not  found  available,  and  lie  a  dead  investment  even  to  this  day. 


CARE  OF  THE  VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC. 


1.  Avoid  exposure,  sudden  changes  of  temperature, 
draughts,  lake  winds,  damp  linen,  cold  or  damp  extremi- 
ties, etc.  Keep  the  body  at  as  even  a  temperature  as 
possible. 

2.  Do  not  abuse  the  voice.  Use  but  not  abuse  it, 
and  protect,  it  at  all  times.  It  is  said  that  Adalina  Patti  car- 
ries a  tablet,  and  communicates  only  by  writing,  on  the  day 
she  is  to  sing  in  opera.  And  this  extraordinary  singer  is 
the  wonder  of  the  world,  because  of  the  continuity  of  her 
powers  ;  after  years  of  use,  her  voice  is  as  fresh  and  clear 
as  ever.  Wingers  appear  and  disappear;  to-day,  "Won- 
derful ;"  to-morrow,  "  Her  voice  is  gone."  Yet  here  comes 
the  well-preserved  and  matchless  diva,  year  after  year,  with 
hjr  beauty,  her  smiles,  and  her  songs. 

3.  Do  not  sit  in  cold  rooms.  In  going  from  heated 
rooms  to  cold  places,  keep  the  mouth  closed,  and  put  on 
extra  wrappings ;  also  in  fog,  rain,  wind,  etc. 

4.  Avoid  singing  or  reciting  in  damp  or  cold  night- 
air,  driving,  boating,  serenading,  etc.     (See  11.) 

5.  Breathe  through  the  nose.  This  is  most  important. 
A  great  artist  gave  that  alone  as  the  key  to  his  fine  voice 
and  its  marvelous  preservation.  When  dying,  he  be- 
queathed the  secret  to  a  dear  friend,  saying :  "  You  can 
support  yourself  by  selling  this  information  to  artists." 
And  so,  indeed,  he  did  for  many  years.  There  is  also  a 
volume  written,  advocating  this  as  a  prevention  to  throat 
and  lung-troubles,  and  setting  forth  various  means  of  ac- 
quiring the  habit  of  breathing  through  the  nose  while 
asleep  (e.  g.,  a  bit  of  plaster  across  the  lips  to  keep  them 
closed,  etc.). 


xvi        CARE  OF  THE  VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC 

6.  Avoid  indigestible  food,  strong  tea  and  coffee,  cake, 
pastry,  confectionery,  candies,  etc. 

7.  Avoid  stimulants,   drugs,   tonics,  and  medicines 

generally. 

8.  Avoid  lozenges  of  all  kinds. 

9.  Avoid  drinking  while  singing  or  speaking.  Es- 
pecially avoid  cold  drinks,  iced-water,  ices,  ice-creams,  etc., 
at  or  after  vocalizing.     (See  11.) 

10.  Do  not  partake  of  heavy  food  before  a  concert 

When  about  to  use  the  voice  (in  the  evening),  dine  before 
five  p.  m.,  and  refrain  from  heavy  and  lat$  suppers.  If  you 
dine  early,  and  require  it,  take  a  light  supper  of  food  that  is 
easily  digested  before,  and  a  similar  lunch  after  the  concert, 
such  as  unbolted  wheat  gems,  bread  and  milk,  cream  toast, 
a  raw  egg  in  a  glass  of  good,  pure  milk,  or  in  unfermented 
wine,  poached  eggs  on  toast,  fresh  raw  oysters.  Uncooked 
oysters  are  very  easily  and  quickly  assimilated,  and  will 
not  interfere  with  the  immediate  use  of  the  voice,  nor  keep 
one  from  sleep.  On  the  contrary,  fried  oysters  are  hard  to 
digest,  and  a  properly  prepared  roast  or  stew  is  seldom 
found ;  usually  the  oysters  are  shriveled  and  tough,  the 
broth  greasy  and  poor. 

11.  Keep  the  mouth  closed,  en  route  to  and  from  the 
lecture  or  concert-room.  Especially  when  going  from  the 
auditorium  close  the  mouth,  and  cover  the  lower  part  of  the 
face  and  throat  with  a  silk  scarf,  or  firm  texture  of  wool. 
This  warms  the  air  before  it  reaches  the  vocal  organs,  which, 
being  in  a  heated  condition  from  recent  use,  should  not  be 
cooled  too  suddenly.  There  is  always  an  unusual  flow  of 
blood  to  the  throat  when  considerable  vocalization  is  going 
on,  and  congestion  is  imminent  unless  it  is  cooled  slowly. 
This  is  why  iced-water,  ices,  etc.,  are  to  be  avoided  at  and 
after  concert  or  lecture ;  also,  why  one  should  avoid  using 
the  voice,  to  any  great  extent,  when  driving,  boating,  or  in 
serenading,  etc.     (See  4.) 

12.  Drugs  and  stimulants  never  build  up,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  destroy  natural  power.  Avoid  them  all.  They  do 
not  make  blood,  nor  purify  the  blood  which  you  have  ;  they 
only  set  it  in  violent  motion,  to  try  to  throw  off  the  poison. 
And,  again,  when  you  work  under  the  lash  of  spirits  or 


CARE  OF  THE   VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC      xvii 

drugs,  you  are  not  conscious  of  your  true  condition,  and, 
hence,  are  liable  to  overdo.  Your  chosen  work  is  a  suffi- 
cient strain  upon  the  nerves,  without  whipping  them  into 
unnatural  action.  If  the  artist  finds  stimulants  (even 
strong  tea  or  coffee)  necessary  to  his  or  her  work,  then  he 
needs  rest  and  recreation.* 

Professional  singers  and  speakers  are  often  tempted  to 
do  themselves  violence  in  order  to  "  make  a  voice,"  or  to 
present  a  "  lively  appearance."  If  you  value  life  and 
health,  set  your  mind  strongly  against  extreme  measures ; 
aud  do  not  hastily  submit  to  surgical  operations.  Some 
physicians  have  a  mania  for  using  the  knife.  "Your  pal- 
ate is  too  long,  and  should  be  trimmed ;  "  or  you  are  told 
you  need  a  solution  of  carbolic  acid  injected  into  the  head 
or  throat ;  and  you  are  lumbered  up  with  instruments  of  all 
sorts,  for  spraying,  gargling,  steaming,  etc.  Before  con- 
senting to  any  of  these  things,  consult  a  conscientious  sur- 
geon or  physician,  one  who  has  no  hobby.  Nine  times  out 
of  ten,  the  trouble  can  be  met  by  simpler  and  less  heroic 
treatment.  Hot  water  compresses,  homoeopathic  and  hy- 
gienic care  will  not  reduce  you  or  confine  to  a  sick  bed,  as 
powerful  nostrums  and  drugs  are  likely  to  do;  and  then 
you  will  be  able,  under  favorable  circumstances,  to  continue 
tilling  your  engagements  without  interruption.  Some  simple 
suggestions  are  herein  given,  in  the  hope  that  youth  and 
inexperience  may  escape  unfortunate  mistakes.  In  case 
you  are  not  within  reach  of  a  competent  physician,  you  can 
often  tide  over  a  difficulty  by  proper  knowledge  of  the 
means.! 

The  Throat. — For  a  constant  desire  to  "  hem,"  or  scrape 
the  throat,  persist  in  swallowing  instead  of  hacking  or 
scraping.  This  is  an  opera  trainer's  rule,  and  well  worth 
observing. 

If  the  throat  is  congested  after  a  concert  (dark  red  and 

*  The  writer  has  traveled  eveiy  day,  and  spoken  six  evenings  a  week,  for  nine 
consecutive  months,  and  is  happv  in  being  able  to  say,  in  verity,  rhat  not  once, 
in  all  that  time,  nor  in  the  period  covering  the  eighteen  hundred  evenings  she 
has  given  to  platform  work,  has  she  ever  taken  a  dose,  however  small,  of  the 
drugs  and  stimulants  called  opium,  morphine,  laudanum,  hashish,  valerian, 
cocaine,  quinine,  etc.  In  case  of  extreme  prostration,  a  sponsre  hath  of  warm 
water,  with  a  little  alcohol  or  ammonia,  has  been  taken  with  good  effect.  This, 
with  massage,  will  prove  quite  refreshing,  and  has  not  the  deleterious  effect 
upon  the  vital  organs  that  iniernal  stimulants  have. 

t  The  writer,  in  fifteen  years'  travel,  never  called  a  physician  but  one*. 


xviii     CARE  OF  THE   VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC. 

swollen^,  apply  a  warm  water  compress  before  retiring. 
Cover  it  well  with  dry  woolen  cloth  to  keep  it  moist  and 
warm.  In  the  morning,  remove  the  bandages  and  bathe 
the  throat  in  cool  water ;  rub  with  dry  hands  until  it  feels 
dry  and  comfortable ;  then  dress  as  usual  for  the  day. 

For  a  rough  or  hoarse  voice,  instead  of  taking  a  trochee, 
before  a  concert  or  lecture,  take  a  little  glycerine,  or  honey, 
or  raw  egg,  or  loaf  sugar  saturated  with  lemon-juice. 

The  Eye. — If  you  have  a  cinder  in  your  eye,  refrain 
from  rubbing  it,  but,  in  absence  of  an  eye-glass,  pull  the 
upper  or  lower  lid  (as  the  case  may  be)  over  the  other  lid, 
by  means  of  the  eyelashes,  and  let  it  slide  back ;  this  will 
often  remove  the  particle  from  the  inner  surface.  Failing 
in  this,  wink  the  eye  in  water;  this  will  cause  the  tears  to 
start,  and  thus  help  to  wash  out  the  obstruction.  If  these 
do  not  answer,  press  the  end  of  a  pencil  into  the  lid  (over  or 
under  the  eyeball)  and  twist  it  around,  rolling  up  the  lid, 
so  that  the  inner  surface  is  outside  ;  remove  the  speck  with 
a  soft  handkerchief. 

To  save  the  eyes,  avoid  exposing  them  to  uneven  light ; 
i.  e.,  with  the  bright  glare  full  upon  one,  eye  while  the  other 
is  in  shadow.  Shade  the  eyes,  if  possible,  from  strong  or 
flickering  light.  If  no  other  means  can  be  found,  cut  out  a 
semi-circle  of  paper  and  fasten  about  the  brow. 


The  Artist's  Make-up  and  Toilet. 

The  better  the  workman,  the  fewer  the  tools.  So  with  an 
artist,  the  better  the  artist,  the  less  number  of  things  is  re- 
quired to  make  up  the  face,  etc.  White,  red  and  brown 
powder,  grease-paint  to  blend  the  wigs  to  the  forehead,  and 
to  line  the  face,  Indieu  farde  for  shading  about  the  eyes 
and  brows,  and  oil  (cold  cream  or  cocoa  butter)  to  remove 
cosmetics,  are  the  staple  articles  for  a  make-up. 

The  soft  tip  of  a  finger  will  answer  in  place  of  a  hare's 
foot  to  apply  rouge,  and  a  bit  of  soft  chamois  is  better  than 
a  puffer  to  apply  white  powder,  since  one  can  touch  up  in 
lines  and  spots,  when  required,  much  better  with  the  former 
than  the  latter.  The  puffer  sifts  the  powder  all  over  the 
face,  and   costume   as   well.     The   grease-paint   comes   in 


CARE  OF  THE   VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC.       xix 

sticks,  and  can  be  used  in  that  form.  Indien  farde  re- 
quires a  pointed  stump  or  roll  of  kid  (which  can  be  bought 
wherever  artists'  materials  are  kept)  to  make  a  narrow  line 
next  the  lashes  and  darken  the  brows.  India  ink  is  better 
than  Indien  farde  where  quick  changes  are  to  be  made, 
since  it  is  easily  removed  with  a  moist  cloth,  while  the  farde 
can  scarcely  be  removed  with  soap  or  oil  India  ink,  if 
used,  requires  a  sable  brush,  such  as  is  used  in  painting  in 
water-colors. 

Before  beginning  to  make  up,  oil  the  skin  and  wipe  with 
a  soft  cloth ;  after  the  performance,  clean  thoroughly  with 
oil  (or  very  fine  soap  and  oil  after).  In  this  way  only  can 
you  hope  to  keep  a  fine  complexion.  Ladies  prefer  flesh 
cream  to  grease-paint,  as  it  is  of  finer  material  and  blends 
readily  Use  as  little  as  possible  to  cover  a  given  surface  ; 
a  bit  the  size  of  a  pea,  taken  in  the  palm  of  the  hand,  will 
cover  the  entire  face. 


Violets. — For  a  warm  bath,  equal  parts  of  wheat  bran, 
orris  powder  and  castile  soap,  sewed  in  a  bag  and  used  in 
place  of  a  sponge,  will  soften  the  skin  and  leave  an  odor  of 
violets. 

Protection  from  Wind  and  Sun. — For  boating,  driving 
and  other  exposure  to  wind  or  sun,  anoint  the  face  and  apply 
rice  powder  freely,  making  a  coating  over  the  face  and 
neck.  Remove  with  soft,  hot  water,  and  Coudray's  glycerine 
soap,  followed  by  cold  cream.  Vaseline  should  not  be  used 
upon  the  face,  as  its  tendency  is  to  stimulate  the  growth  of 
hair,  and  will  cover  the  face  with  a  soft  down. 

To  Remove  Wrinkles.— Before  retiring,  wash  the  face 
with  soft  water,  as  hot  as  you  can  bear,  in  which  a  small 
bit  of  bi-carbonate  of  soda  has  been  dissolved;  wipe  with 
soft  linen  and  apply  cream,  or  cold  cream.  The  soda 
cleanses  the  pores,  the  hot  water  puffs  the  skin,  and  the  oil 
keeps  it  so.  Another  method  of  removing  wrinkles  is  : 
The  white  of  an  egg  beaten  up,  and  applied  to  the  face 
over  night,  and  washed  off  with  tepid  water  in  the  morning. 

A  Hand-wash,  and  fragrant  disinfectant :  ^  pint  of 
rose-water;    2   teaspoonfuls  best  glycerine;    5  drops  each 


xx        CARE  OF  THE   VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC. 

of  camphor  and  carbolic  acid.  If  this  recipe  is  followed 
exactly,  the  odor  will  be  of  rose-water  only,  and  no  oil  ap- 
preciable. Cleanse  the  hands  with  warm  water  and  fine 
soap ;  then  apply  the  wash. 

Cold  Cream  for  the  Complexion. — 2  oz.  oil  of  sweet 
almonds;  \  oz.  spermaceti;  1  dr.  white  wax.  Melt  to- 
gether, and  stir  while  cooling,  not  boil.  Add  two  oz.  rose- 
water,  stirring  it  in  a  little  at  a  time.  The  value  of  the 
cold  cream  as  a  beautifier  depends  largely  upon  the  oil  of 
sweet  almonds.  This  oil,  being  expensive,  is  rarely  found, 
even  at  wholesale  druggists,  in  its  genuine  pure  quality. 

To  Stop  a  Cold  Sore. — A.t  the  first  indication  of  a  cold 
sore,  press  the  spot  with  a  thimble  or  other  hard  substance, 
and  apply  tincture  of  camphor ;  repeat  every  five  minutes 
until  the  swelling  is  controlled,  that  is,  until  it  ceases  to  in- 
crease; in  a  few  hours  it  will  go  away. 

Gloves. 

Draw  and  stroke  them  on,  for  if  they  are  pushed 
on  in  wrinkles  they  will  never  after  fit  smoothly  over 
the  joints.  When  the  fingers  of  left  glove  are  well  on,  pull 
back  the  hand  of  the  glove,  and  insert  the  thumb.  Before 
fastening  it,  slide  the  thumb  of  the  right  hand  far  into  the 
palm  of  the  left,  and,  turning  it  toward  the  little  finger, 
slide  it  outward  and  downward  to  the  wrist,  thus  stretching 
it  with  the  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  bringing  it  to  place. 
Fasten,  and  reverse  the  process  for  the  right  hand.  To  re- 
move the  gloves,  unfasten,  and  turn  them  off  (wrong  side 
out)  until  you  come  to  the  middle  of  the  fingers :  then  take 
them  off  by  the  tips,  and,  while  warm,  smooth  and  straighten 
them.  If  the  gloves  are  cold  before  putting  them  on,  or 
when  smoothing  and  stretching  them  to  place  in  the  glove- 
box,  blow  breath  into  them  until  they  are  warm  and 
soft. 

Hose. 

If  the  feet  and  ankles  are  likely  to  be  cold  in  silk 
stockings  and  slippers,  wear  a  pair  of  fine  lisle  or  cotton 
hose  under  the  silk  ones.  It  will  make  no  difference  in  the 
general  effect,  and  will  save  a  deal  of  discomfort  and  colds. 
Many  opera  singers  who  have  to  match  the  stockings  to 


CARE  OF  THE  VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC.       xxi 

each  costume,  put  on  two  or  three  pairs  at  the  outset,  and 
remove  the  outer  ones  as  they  proceed.  It  saves  time,  and 
is  not  uncomfortable.  Of  course,  the  bare-foot  or  toed  stock- 
ings cannot  be  put  on  over  otter  hose,  but  other  hose  can  be 
put  on  over  them,  provided  the  bare-foot  scene  comes  last  in 
the  order  of  costumes.  It  has  been  found  that  some  people 
cannot  wear  colored  stockings,  as  the  ordinary  dyes  seem 

to  irritate  and  cause  the  feet  to  swell.* 
/ 

Bare-foot  Sandals. — The  nearest  effect  to  bare  feet 
can  be  produced  by  sole-leather  cut  the  shape  of  the  bot- 
tom of  your  feet,  and  fastened  on  with  flesh-colored  elastic 
bauds,  garter  width.  To  obtain  the  pattern,  stand  with  the 
weight  on  the  right  foot,  and,  with  a  pencil  held  upright, 
draw  a  mark  around  it.  Reverse  the  pattern  for  the  left 
foot.  When  you  have  the  soles  cut,  have  also  a  pair  of 
thick  white  kid  duplicates  cut  for  linings,  and  have  eight 
small  holes  punched  in  the  margin  of  the  leather  soles,  and 
a  groove  pressed  in,  connecting  them  in  pairs.  The  holes 
are  for  the  wire  to  pass  through  to  make  fast  the  elastic 
bands,  and  the  grooves  to  sink  the  wire  into  the  leather. 
Put  the  kid  linings  in  after  the  elastic  bands  have  been 
made  fast,  and  finish  by  connecting  the  bands  on  the  instep 
with  the  sole  beneath  the  toes.  This  is  done  by  passing 
the  silk  tape  between  the  big  toe  and  the  next  one,  and 
fastening  it  above  and  below.  This  keeps  the  sandal  from 
sliding  back  ;  if  it  slides  forward,  a  small  band  of  the  same 
color  as  the  hose  should  be  put  around  the  heel.  These 
home-made,  inexpensive  sandals,  when  worn  over  flesh-col- 
ored toed  stockings,  give  the  effect  of  bare  feet,  and  at  the 
same  time  serve  to  keep  the  feet  from  the  floor. 

It  is  conforming  to  true  art  to  dress  the  feet  to  correspond 
with  the  race,  person,  and  time  which  are  being  represented. 
French  heels  and  satin  slippers  on  an  Indian  or  Arab  is  dis- 
tressing to  an  audience.  Dress,  also,  according  to  the 
necessities  of  the  occasion  ;  if  fishing,  dress  for  fishing,  not 
for  a  ball.  It  must  be  exceedingly  trying  for  the  actors  in 
a  play  like  the  "Danites"  (a  very  strong,  historic  play, 
which  will  be  better  and  better  appreciated  as  the  years  roll 
by),  to  have  to  pretend  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  the  boy 
stranger  is  really  a  woman,  when  every  child  in  the  au- 
dience  recognizes   the   fact   from   first  to  last.     To  wear 


*  Bathe  tired  or  swollen  feet  in  alcohol  and  water,  equal  parts. 


xxii      CARE  OF  THE  VOICE,  HEALTH,  ETC. 

corsets  and  exaggerate  the  distinctive  form  of  woman  when 

disguised,  is  as  absurd  as  it  is  inartistic. 

Lights. — The  experienced  artist  is  aware,  that  the  poorer 
the  light  on  a  platform  or  stage,  the  fresher  and  better  must 
be  gloves,  slippers,  and,  indeed,  everything  she  wears;  and 
the  brighter  the  lights,  the  less  conspicuous  will  be  any  im- 
perfections in  the  outfit.  Please  bear  this  in  mind,  and  if 
there  is  scanty  or  feeble  light,  no  foot-lights,  wear  your 
freshest,  newest  gown,  gloves,  etc.  It  is  like  a  daylight 
matinee ;  the  usual  evening  make-up,  or  an  excess  of  pow- 
der, becomes  grotesque  and  ridiculous.  An  artist  should 
not  approach  the  footlights  within  a  distance  equal  to  his 
or  her  height. 


Sounds  of  Letters 

Units. 

1  e  as  in  eve. 

8  e  as  in  met. 

2  a  a;  in  ale. 

9  a.  as  in  at. 

3  a  as  in  arm. 

10  6  as  in  not. 

4  a  as  in  all. 

11  u  as  in  up. 

5  o  as  in  old. 

12  u  as  in  full. 

6  o  as  in  do. 

13  th  as  in  thin. 

7  *  as  in  it. 

ABBREVIATIONS,  ETC.* 


14  th  as  in  this. 

15  n,  as  in  no. 

tt  a  ■     i  ink. 

16  n.  ng  as  m< 
v  song-. 

17  g  (hard)  as  in  go. 

18  g  (soft)  as  in  gem. 

Diphthongs. 

1  i  (toe)  as  in  rice.  4  61,  of  as  in  oil,  boy. 

2  u  (eo)  as  in  flute.  5  ou  as  in  our. 

3  $    J    ttsM  as  in  i  5°?-  6  ch  {Uh)  aS  in  ChurCh- 
6  \    g  ^  aS  m  t  gem.                   7  wh  (hw)  as  in  when. 

Signs  for  Pitch,  Force  and  Time.| 
1  (°)  high  pitch.  6  (si.)  slow. 

3  (0)  low  pitch.  7  (p.)  soft. 

3  (00)  high  and  loud.  8  (f  )  loud. 

4  (00)  low  and  loud.  9  (ace.)  quickening  speed. 

5  (q.)  quick.  10  (lit.)  slackening  speed. 

Signs   Placed    Before,    and   Applying  to,  Words  and 

Phrases. 

|       bar,  means  a  halt,  or  short  rhetorical  pause. 

||      double  bar,  means  a  longer  rhetorical  pause. 

( — )  monotone,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

(  /  )  rising:  pitch,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

(  \  )  downward  pitch,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

(*< )  t(0  increase  in  force,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

( > )  decrease  in  force,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

(-~»)  tremulous  voice,  to  the  next  bar  or  change. 

( --' )  go  down  and  up  on  the  ph  rase  or  sentence. 

('-» )  go  up  and  down  on  the  phrase  or  sentence. 

—-w  go  up,  down  and  up  on  the  phrase  or  sentence. 

_'~-  go  down,  up  and  down  on  the  phrase  or  sentence. 

*  Used  as  a  guide  to  rendition.    For  letter  sounds  see  Webster, 
t  An j'  one  of  these  signs  over  a  word  or  syllable  applies  to  that  word  or 
syllable  only. 
Z  (s     )  moans  increase  in  force  through  the  entire  series,  or  sentence. 


XXIV 


ABBREVIATIONS,  ETC. 


Qualities  op  Voice. 

1  oro.  (deep)  orotund.  4  ora.  (head-voice)  oral. 

2  grit,  (rough)  guttural.  5  J  (sharp)  falsetto. 

3  asp.  (whisp>ered)  aspirate.  (3  \,  (flat)  nasal. 


(r.  h. 

(r.  h. 

(r.  h. 

(b.  h. 
(b.  h. 
(b.  h. 
(d.  f.). 
(h.  f.). 
(a.  f.). 

(d.e.). 

(h.e.). 

(a.  e.). 

(d.  o.). 

(h.o.). 

(a.  o.). 


s.) 


P-) 


v.) 


s.) 

p.) 

v.) 


Abbreviations  Indicating  Gesture. 

right    hand     supine  f To   receive,  give,  support,  rescue; 
(palm  up) ^      things     floating,    good,     success- 
ful, etc. 
right     hand      prone  f't0   put   down,  bury,  suppress,  for- 
(palm  down) «j      get,  quiet,   hush;   sinking,  hope- 
less, etc. 
right    hand   vertical  ft0  repel,  banish,  resist;  lost,  past, 
forgotten  ;  fear,    fright,    dismay, 
horror. 


(palm  vertical). . .  j 
i 
I 


both  hands  supine 
both  hands  prone. 
both  hands  vertical 
descending  front . . 
horizontal  front.  .. 
ascending-  front.  .. 


1 


}- larger    area,    more   extended   than 
with  one  hand  only. 

toward  the  floor,  in  front  of  speaker. 

toward  the  wall,  in  front  of  speaker. 

toward     the     ceiling,    in     front    of 
speaker, 
descending  extended     toward   the   floor,   right   or  left   of 
speaker. 

toward  the  side-walls,  i  ight  or  left 
of  speaker. 

toward  the  ceiling,  right  or  left  of 
speaker. 

downward,  between   front   and  ex- 
tended. 

horizontal,  between   front   and  ex- 
tended. 

upward,    between    front    and    ex- 
tended. 


horizontal  extended 
ascending  extended 
descending  oblique 
horizontal  oblique, 
ascending  oblique . 


HELEN    POTTER'S 

IMPERSONATIONS. 


BLUNDERS. 


A   STUDY   OP  JOHN   B.    GOUOH. 


,  OLUMES  could  be  written  |  upon  blunders  J 
and  not  exhaust  the  subject.  Blunders 
which,  make  us  laugh,  and  blunders  |  which 
make  us  shudder.  Human  experience  |  is 
full  of  them.  We  laugh  at  phases  of  drunk- 
enness. I  do  not  blame  people  lor  laughing.  Man  is  the 
Duly  animal  that  can  laugh,  |  and  he  ought  to  enjoy  his 
privilege.  One  poor  fellow,  |  somewhat  the  worse  for  drink, 
fell  down  a  flight  of  thirty  or  forty  steps,  |  — in  Erie,  Pa., 
and  when  a  man  rushed  to  help  him  up,  he  said,  [drunken 
voice]  "oGr0  away,  I  don't  want  your  help.  That's  the  way  |  I 
calways  |  Ocome  down  stairs."  We  laugh  at  the  man  who 
came  home  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  said  it  was 
one.  "  But,"  said  his  wife,  "the  clock  has  just  struck  four." 
"  I  know  better,"  he  replied,  "  for  I  heard  it  strike  one  | 
0re°peatedly." 

Absent-mindedness  is  often  the  source  of  ludicrous  blun- 
ders, |  as  in  the  case  of  the  cooper,  who  put  his  son  |  into 
the  barrel  to  hold  up  the  head,  |  and  found  when  he  had 
finished  that  the  boy  was  in  the  barrel,  |  with  no  way  of 
escape. 

Blunders  often  occur  |  in  efforts  to  °correct  0them.  A 
speaker  once  said,  (b)  "You  ask  us  to  work  for  posterity;  I 


2  HELEN  POTTERS 

what,  I  would  ask  you,  |  has  pos°ter0i°ty  |  ever  done  for 
°us  ?"  Which  caused  his  audience  to  laugh, — and  he  cor- 
rected himself  thus  :  "  I  don't  mean  those  who  come  directly 
before  us,  |  but  those  O]jar°ticujar0ly  |  °in0stant°l//  |  ( \) 
"subsequent."  Another  one  said,  "Mr.  Chairman,  I  deny 
Lhe  allegation,  [  and  defy  j  the  alligator.'''1 

We  are  apt  to  call  all  blunders  in  words  |  "  Bulls ;  "  but  I 
believe  the  pure  bull  j  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms ;  as, 
"I  met  you  this  morning  and  you  didn't  come;  |  now  I'll 
meet  you  to-morrow  morning',  |  whether  you  come  |  or 
not."  |  An  invalid  once  said,  "  If  I'd  stayed  in  that  place 
till  now,  j  I'd  have  been  dead  two  years  ago." 

I  once  saw  a  notice  on  a  ferry-boat:  j  "Persons  are 
requested  not  to  leave  this  boat  |  until  made  fast  to  the 
dock."  A  minister  once  announced  to  his  congregation, 
that,  ( — )  "A  woman  died  \  very  suddenly  |  last  fSuuday,  | 
while  I  was  preaching  the  gospel,  |  in  a  beastly  state  |  of 
intoxication."  Blunders  in  advertisements  |  are  unlim- 
ited :  "  All  persons  in  this  town  owning  dogs,  |  shall  be 
muzzled."  "  Two  young  women  |  want  washing."  "  A 
young  man  wanted  |  to  take  care  of  a  horse  |  of  a  reli- 
gious turn  of  mind."  "To  be  sold  j  a  pianoforte,  |  the 
property  of  a  musician  |  with  carved  legs." 

But  it  is  of  great  importance,  |  while  we  are  moved  to 
daughter  |  by  the  blunders  that  are  ma~cle,  |  that  at  the 
same  time  |  we  remember  not  to  count  it  an  irksome  task  | 
to  avoid  |  making  mistakes.  Look  at  our  vast  continent,  | 
Avith  its  various  climates  and  soil,  [  its  mountains  and  val- 
leys, |  its  wonderful  wealth",  |  underground,  |  and  above 
ground.  |  Look  at  the  space  we  occupy  upon  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  |  and  the  space  we  must  occupy  |  in  history.  | 

Have  we  blundered  in  the  past  ?  Yes,  we  °have  plun- 
dered in  the  p"ast,  |  and  we  are  blundering  °now.  We 
blunder-  j  when  we  lay  waste  our  grand  old  forests,  |  our 
coal-fields,  J  our  vast  mineral  wealth.     We  blunder  |  when 


IMPERSONATIONS.  3 

we  waste  the  public  money,  and  increase  our  taxes.    |    We 
blunder  j  when  we  elect  bad  men  to, office.       We  blunder  | 
when  we  fail  to  care  for  the  poor  |  and  the  (\)  buffering,  | 
0of  our  land. 

°Imagine,  if  you  can,  |  all  the  children  of  this  great  na- 
tion, |  properly  cared  for,  |  for  a  single  generation.  0Y/hat 
would  be  the  result  ?  °Six  hundred  and  forty-eight  little 
ones,  |  under  five  years  of  age,  |  died  in  one  week,  |  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  |  among  the  poorer  classes. 

Come  with  me,  |  and  I'll  show  you  a  "scene  |  1  once  wit- 
nessed. Turn  from  this  street  of  palaces  |  and  look  upon 
a  °new  Oworld.  Every  step  you  advance  |  brings  you  in 
contact  with  scenes  darker,  filthier,  |  and  more  degraded. 
Sickening  odors  |  heavy  |  with  disease  |  come  from  open 
cellars ;  oaths  ring  out  J  from  subterranean  dens.  Here 
on  the  filthy  sidewalk  |  are  children,  |  that  are  walking 
heaps  of  rags.  "Children  |  who  never  hear  a  mother  pray,  | 
0but  often  |  hear  her  swear.  Children  |  who  must  inevita- 
bly" |  fill  our  prisons,  penitentiaries,  poor-houses  and  worse. 
Can  they  be  rescued  ?  Hear  how  keen  their  cutting  sar- 
casms ;  how- sharp  their  rough  criticisms  !  What  if  all  this 
acuteness,  |  all  these  sharp  intellects,  |  were  trained  for 
humanity  |  and  Heaveh,  |  instead  of  being  trained  to  prey 
upon  society !  Do  we  not  blunder,  |  in  doing  nothing  for 
their  rescue  ? 

"Come  with  me,  |  and  see  where  they  live  !  Come  from 
your  pleasant  homes,  |  where  children  |  play  and  prattle 
around  you,  |  and  climb  your  kne~es  !  ( \)  Come  from  your 
family  altars  !  |  Come  from  the  comforts  and  luxuries,  | 
that  God  has  given  °you,  |  and  see  where  these  children  | 
°live  !  °Je0sus  (\)  °loved  little  children;  |  and  whoso 
giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water  |  to  these  little  ones'  |  shall  not 
lose  his  reward. 

°See  that  broken  door,  [  hanging  by  a  single  hinge  !  ( — ) 
eNo  fear  of  burglars  °here  !     °En0ter  !  (/)  Is  this  a  cage 


4  HELEN  POTTER'S 

of  wild  animals  ?     ooN0 !   °men,  women  and  children,  | 

not  beasts,  |  dwell  here!  Every  square  foot  |  of  the  filthy 
floor  |  has  °its  occupants !  °Here  |  are  the  wretched  beg- 
gars; the  drunken  |  in  their  debaucheries;  gray  hairs 
|  and  auburn  locks ;  |  old  and  young ;  |  black  and  white";  | 
sick  and  suffering;  |  innocent  and  guilty,  all  |  herding 
together ! 

°Here  |  the  °robber  0brings  his  °plun0der !  Here  the  ( \ ) 
° murderer  |  0 hides !  |  °Here  the  }poov  girl  |  (0God  help  her)  | 
Gbrings  her  horrible  |  earnings !  Here,  |  amidst  fumes  of 
poisonous  liquors,  |  they  spend  their  lives  |  in  darkness  ! 
0And  such  scenes  are  to  be  witnessed  in  every  large  city, 
and  that,  too,  |  within  the  sound  |  of  church  bells !  o0h, 
they  are  a  hard  set !     Yes,  they  lie  |  and  steal. 0 

0Their   sins  of   commission  are  ° awful,  |   0but  what  are 
°our  0sins  |  of  °o0mission!     As  we  gaze  in  horror  |  into  the 
abyss  where  they  live,  |  and  shudder  |  at  their  degrada- 
tion, |  do  not  some  of  us  think   "  I  am  guilty  of  neglect  | 
toward  my  brother?"  |  Reports  |  of  " News-boys'  Lodging- 
houses,"    |    "  Homes   for  the  Friendless,"   |   and  "  Charity 
Schools,"  |  show  much  has  been  done  for  them,  |  but  they 
need  something  °more  0than  instruction.     Let  rich  men,  | 
out  of  their  abundance,  |  invest  in  clean  and  cheap  lodg- 
ing-houses ;  |  provide  cheap  and  wholesome  recreation.    Let 
them    have  ° music,    \   Owith°out   \   lager   beer;   amusement,  \ 
(  \)  without  nice  \  and  crime. 

Society  must  °pay  |  Ofor  the  blunders  it  makes.  |  It  is  the 
in°evitable.  We  may  put  seed  into  the  ground  |  and  com- 
mand it  not  to  grow,  but  it  will,  |  and  will  bring  forth  fruit 
|  according  to  its  kind.  No  power  of  ours  |  can  prevent  it. 
And  so  |  the  seeds  of  vice  and  crime,  |  that  we  allow  to 
enter  into  the  soil  of  society,  |  will  sprout  and  grow  there! 
and  will  bring  forth  fruit  |  according  to  its  kind. 

The  middle  of  August,  1875,  ended  a  strike  in  the  coal 
fields  of  Pennsylvania.    The  miners  |  received  their  wages; 


IMPERSONATIONS.  5 

0and  what  was  the  result?  Why,  |  the  press  of  the  (\) 
°whole  country  rang  |  with  accounts  of  the  pandemonium 
which  followed.  People  shut  themselves  within  doors,  | 
and  hid  themselves ;  |  because  °MURDER  was  loose,  and 
life  was  not  safe.  |  The  whiskey  shops  |  had  a  night  of  it. 
Oh,  if  the  miners  had  only  struck  against  the  °liquor0busi- 
ness  then ! 

°I  am  not  an  advocate  of  strikes,  |  0but  with°all  0my  (\) 
°heart,  and  soul,  |  and  might,  |  and  mind,  |  and  strength,  \\ 
I  °do  (/)  Oadvocate  |  a  unanimous  and  persistent  strike* | 
against  this  business.    Strike  against  it  |  0at  home  !    Strike 
against  it  |  at  public  receptions !     Strike  against  the  cut 
glass  and  decanter  of  the  tipler,  the  whiskey-flask  |  and 
rum-jug   |   of  the   inebriate!     ° Strike   |   in^the   name   of 
justice,  |  purity  |  and  HUMANITY !     "Strike  |  for  the  love 
of  your  country,  and  in  behalf  of  drunkards'  wives  and  chil- 
dren !     °  Strike  against  "It,  |  at  the  (\)  ballot-box!  \    °  Strike 
against  "it,  |  in  your  churches!     Strike  against  it,  |  at  the 
family  altar  |  in  the  hour  of  prayer!  |  °Strike  !  °°Strike  | 
°till  you  00die!  0and  by  GocTs  help  |  we  may  do  some- 
thing |  to  repair  the  most  ° awful  blunder  |  of  the  nineteenth 
century ! 

John  B.  Gough",  a  celebrated  lecturer  on  temperance,  was  born  at 
Sandgate,  Kent,  England,  August  22,  1817,  and  died  at  Frankford, 
Pa.,  February  18,  1886.  He  was  lecturing  in  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church  when  he  was  attacked  with  cerebral  apoplexy,  and  died  two 
days  later.  He  came  to  America  in  1S29,  and  while  learning  the 
bookbinding  business  in  New  York  fell  into  habits  of  intemperance, 
and  finally  sank  to  the  lowest  depths  of  poverty  and  wretchedness. 
Having  been  induced  about  1810  to  sign  the  total  abstinence  pledge, 
he  became  deeply  interested  in  the  temperance  reform,  and  soon 
distinguished  himself  as  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  success- 
ful advocates  of  the  cause.  From  1848  to  his  death,  he  devoted 
himself  almost  without  interruption  to  lecturing  on  temperance,  in 
the  United  States.  Canada,  and  the  British  Islands.  He  has  spoken 
nearly  one  hundred  times  on  the  subject  of  temperance  in  Exeter  Hall, 
London.  Mr.  Gough  combined  in  an  eminent  degree  the  qualities  of 
an  actor  with  those  of  a  great  orator.  His  autobiography  was  pue- 
lished  in  1846  and  a  volume  of  his  orations  in  1854. 

In  appearance  Mr    Gough  was  of  medium  size  and  height,  with  a 


6  HELEN  POTTER'S 

kind  and  sympathetic  magnetism,  which  could  not  be  resisted.  He 
won  his  hearers  at  the  very  outset  and  held  them  to  the  last.  In  his 
later  years  he  wore  his  gray  hair  long,  reaching  to  the  edge  of  his 
collar,  and  his  beard,  also  nearly  white,  was  worn  uncut  and  flow- 
ing down  over  his  bosom.  His  head  was  largely  developed  in 
the  region  of  perception,  giving  greater  depth  to  his  eyes.  His 
international  popularity  renders  any  attempt  to  portray  his  won- 
derful oratorical  power  futile.  He  told  a  sLory  and  acted  it  inimi- 
tably ;  you  not  only  saw  the  scene  but  felt  it  ail.  Any  attempt  to 
impersonate  his  rare  gift  of  mimicry,  his  pathos  and  humor,  must, 
perforce,  fall  short  oi  the  original.  He  was  an  eccentric  comedian  (if 
the  rarest,  sort,  and  he  lectured  more  years  and  to  more  people  tL1a.11 
any  either  speaker  of  whom  we  have  any  account.  He  was  called  the 
Prince  of  the  Lyceum,  and  merited  the  tit  !e.  lie  often  closed  a  lecture 
by  saying,  "  May  I  die  in  the  harness  ;  "  and  so  he  did  die.  He  was 
taken  from  the  platform  before  he  had  completed  his  lecture,  and 
never  recovered. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — A  gray  wig  and  full,  long  whiskers;  an 
evening  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  (dress  coat)  ;  a  narrow,  black  silk 
neck-tie,  a  turn-down  collar,  and  a  watch  and  chain.  Enter  with  an 
overcoat  on  your  arm,  place  it  over  a  chair,  sit  down  and  look  about. 
Then  rise,  take  a  sip  of  water,  wipe  your  mouth  with  a  white  hand- 
kerchief, replace  it  in  the  coat  pocket  (rear),  straighten  up,  and 
begin  your  lecture.  If  you  are  not  in  full  sympathy  with  your  sub- 
ject, do  not  attempt  this  impersonation,  as  neither  the  subject  nor  the 
lecturer  should  be  caricatured  ;  and,  furthermore,  the  public  will  not 
accept  it.  Mr.  Gough  is  cherished  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and 
his  memory  revered.  You  should  be  as  earnest  and  honest  in  your 
work  as  was  that  "prince  of  lecturers."  The  writer  never  undertook 
the  impersonation  without  a  silent  invocation,  or  prayer,  for  the  light 
spirit  to  go  out  with  the  words,  that  they  might  bear  the  power  of  con- 
viction with  them,  and  reach  the  souls  of  all  within  reach  of  her  voice. 

In  attempting  male  impersonations,  a  lady  should  wear  the  dress 
coat  and  vest,  with  linen  attached,  over  a  plain,  black  broadcloth 
skirt ;  and  a  low  curtain  or  screen  should  run  from  the  entrance  to 
the  desk,  so  as  to  conceal  the  skirt  nearly  to  the  waist-line. 

There  is  a  strong  climax,  commencing  "See  that  broken,  etc." 
Point  and  look  at  an  imaginary  door,  and  shrink  from  it  as  you  go 
on.  Exclaim  in  consternation,  "Is  this  a  cage  of  -  wild  animals?" 
Answer  your  question  with  an  intense  "  No!"  running  down  half  an 
octave  from  a  high  start,  and  quickly  add,  "  Men,  women  and  child- 
ren, not  beasts,  dwell  here ! "  giving  the  downward  inflection  on 
"children"  and  up  on  "beasts." 

Another  climax  commences  with  "Here  are  the  wretched  beggars  !  " 
and  ends  with  "Spend  their  lives  in  darkness."  Speak  the  lines 
rap'dly,  and  increase  in  force  as  you  proceed,  bringing  out  the  words 
"robber,"  "murderer,"  "girl,"  "earnings,"  etc.,  very  prominently. 

The  third  and  last  climax  commences  with  a  series  of  "strikes." 
Commence  in  ordinary  declamatory  pitch  of  voice  ;  at  each  strike  in- 
crease the  volume  and  pitch  until  you  finish  with  "  Strike  till  you 
die  ! " 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


TEMPERANCE. 


A    STUDY    OF    JOHN    B.    GOUQH. 


E  want  public  sentiment  \  against  the  liquor 

J~^HPWj(il     traffic;  public  sentiment  |  backed  by  law  j 
...a'WflTffl!     to  protect  society.     We  want  public  senti- 
ment |  to  banish  liquor  from  private  tables ;  | 
°there's  where  half  the  drunkards  learn  to 
drink ! 

Can  I  teach  a  young  man  to  drink  by  showing  him  the 
results  of  drink  ?  |      No,  |  I  can't  do  it !     It's  impossible  ! 

I  have  a  fine  boy  just  merging  into  manhood  |  and  I  take 
him  out  |  to  teach  him  to  drink.  |  We  go  into  a  gin-shop 
and  call  for  glasses  of  beer,  |  and  my  boy  says  to  me,  | 
"  Father,  |  what  makes  these  men  look  so !  "  |  and  I 
answer,  |  "  It's  °liquor,  my  boy,  |  come  |  have  a  glass,  won't 
you?  "  and  he  says,  |  " °No !  0I  won't  touch  it !  " 

I  take  him  to  an  °  insane  0asylwm,  |  and  he  looks  in  upon 
the  inmates  there  ;  |  and  he  says  to  me,  "  Father,  what  sent 
this  young  man  here  ?"     (\)  "  ° Liquor  brought  him  here, 
have   a  glass,  |  won't  you  ? "  |   and  he  says,  "  No !  no !  | 
why  j  this  is  °dread0ful !  " 

I  take  him  to  a  °club0house;  he  hears  the  jest  and  song; 
he  hears  words  he  never  heard  before,  words  |  of  which 
he  knows  not  the  meaning.  |  His  natural  purity  asserts 
itself.  "  Let  us  go  away  from  here ;  |  I  don't  like  to 
stay  here  ;  what  makes  these  men  °talk"so?"  |  "Oh,  they've 
been  drinking,  my  boy,  (\)  take  a  drink,  |  won't  you?" 
"No,  no!  a  thousand  times  °no!  °by  the  memory  of  my 


8  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Omother;    by   the   purity   of  my  "sister, — °No!  |  0I  won't 
touch  it!" 

I  take  him  to  a  °prison  |  and  he  looks  in  upon  the  Con- 
victs 0 there ;  and  my  boy  says  to  me,  "  Father,  |  what  sent 
this  fine-looking1  old  man  here ;  |  he  don't  look  like  a  bad 
man  j  at  all !  "  and  I  say,  "  He's  not  a  bad  man  at  heart,  | 
my  boy,  |  but  he  committed  an  awful  crime  |  when  he  was 
under  the  influence  of  liquor  |  and  so  there  he  is  |  for  life. 
(/)Have  a  glass  of  °liq0uor,  |  my  boy!"  "  °°N0,  NO! 
0fath"er,  |  (\)take  me  home ;  |  I'm  sick!"  Can  I  teach 
him  to  drink,  by  showing  the  remits  of  drink  ?  0No,  |  0I 
can't  do  it.  |  It  can't  be  done ;  |  but  let  me  conceal  the 
results  |  and  he'll  drink.  The  minister  and  the  judge  |  are 
to  °dine  |  0with  me  |  and  I  order  pure  wine  for  the  occasion. 
I  pour  out  a  glass  of  wine  for  the  minister  |  and  another 
for  the  judge  |  and  another  |  saying:  "  0Have  a  glass  of 
°wine,  my  boy  ? "  And  he  says,  "  Yes,  father,  |  thank 
you;"  |  «)  and  he  takes  it  and  drinks  it.  |  He  likes 
it.  He  drinks  more  and  likes  that,  |  he  becomes  a  drunk- 
ard and  °°dies  |  in  the  despair  of  delirium  ;  [hands  up  and 
pushing  the  hair  into  disorder]  0and  who  taught  him  to  drink  ? 

We  want  public  sentiment  to  banish  liquor  from  private 
tables,  for  I  tell  you  |  there's  where  half  the  drunkards 
(/)  0learn  to  drink. 

Men  who  talk  very  sensibly  |  on  all  other  subjects  |  talk 
like  fools  |  on  the  subject  of  °temperance.  |  A  man  said  to 
me  |  only  the  other  day,  |  [thumbs  in  armholes]  :  "  °Well," 
0said  Ke^ "  °I  consider  the  liquor  traffic  a  legitimate  business ; 
I  guess  I've  a  right  to  sell  liquor  if  I  want  to — men  needn't, 
come  and  °buy  0my  °liquor  unless  they  please ;  |  °I'm  not 
responsible  for  them."  ( \)°  You  are  not  responsible  for  them ! 
0Let's  see. 

°There  was  a  boy  down  in  Connecticut  |  sick  unto  death  [ 
from  alcohol,  |  and  when  he  was  able  to  understand  what 
was  said  to  him  |  the  doctor  said,  |  "  Johnny,  my  boy,  I 


IMPERSONATIONS.  9 

think  I  can  pull  you  °thro'  0this  time,  |  but  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  now,  Johnny,  Ono  \  power  on  earth  \  can  save  you  j 
if  you  drink  again — even  a  v.mgle  glass,  Johnny."  | 

[TFeaA  and  pausing.]  "Oh,  doctor,  |  you  don't  know  what 
I've  suffered  ;  j  I'm  "mad  |  for  drink ;  j  I  don't  feel  as 
though  I  could  ever  let  it  alone,  doctor;  |  I've  |  suffered 
so,  |  that  if  I  knew  |  there  was  no  physical  torment  for 
me  in  he"Tf,  |  I'd  commit  suicide ;  I've  suffered  °twenty 
deaths.  Why,  doctor,  |  I've  felt  great  black  spiders  | 
drag  their  damp  bodies  |  and  hairy  le'gs  |  all  over  my 
face  and  (/)°into  my  mouth  !  [tearing  the  hair,  and  breath- 
ing short  and  hard]  °Oh,  Odoctor !  I'll  never  drink  any 
more,  °never,  o0never,  0never!" 

After  a  while  this  poor  boy  was  able  to  get  out.  of 
doors ;  |  he  was  convalescent ;  weak  and  tottering  on  two 
sticks,  |  he  took  his  first  walk ;  [  0and  where  do  you  think 
he  went  ?  |  °He  went  straight  across  the  street  to  a  dram- 
shop |  and  drank  a  glass  of  liqudr;  |  0and  that  |  ended 
him. 

That  liquor-dealer  (\)°knew  this  Oyoung  °man  |  Operson- 
auy — knew  he  had  just  escaped  death  |  from  drink ;  knew 
another  drink  would  kill  him,  and  yet  he  sold  him  the 
liquor;  |  he  was  pursuing  legitimate  business;  lawful  trade! 
(/)Was  that  liquor-dealer  a  murderer?  Yes,  |  he  was  a 
murderer !  and  that  young  man's  blood  will  cry  from  out 
the  ground  in  the  day  of  judgment  |  and  0ac°cuse  Jiim  of 
°murder. 

No  man  has  a  right  to  pursue  a  business  which  ruins  his 
neighbor  ;  |  which  is  a  °plague  0in  the  ?and. 

You  all  laugh  at  the  antics  of  a  drunken  man ;  you  laugh 
at  thought  of  the  poor  inebriate  who  blundered  into  church 
on  Sunday  morning,  thinking  it  a  theatre,  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  minister  say  ( — )  "Who  in  this  audience  |  is  will- 
ing to  be  a  goat  ?  Who,  I  repeat,  in  this  vast  (/)  audience  | 
is  willing  to  be  a  g'oat  ?  " 


10  HELEN  POTTERS 

No  one  responding,  and  thinking  there  must  be  something 
wrong  behind  the  scenes,  the  poor  drunkard  rose  to  his  feet, 
sayiilg,  [reeling]  "  Look'u  here,  mister,  |  now  rather'n  to 
have  the  play  stop,  |  I'll  be  the  goat  myself!  " 

And  of  the  other  poor  fellow,  |  when  the  minister  said, 
"Where's  the  drunkard  ;  where's  the  drmikard  ?  "  rose  to  his 
feet  saying,  "Here  I  am,  Sir,  here  I  [hie]  am!  "  The  min- 
ister went  on  to  say,  " c Where's  the  hypocrite;  ° where's 
the  hypocrite  'i "  No  one  responding-,  the  poor  fellow  rose 
again  and  pointing  to  aman  in  the  audience,  said :  "Deacon 
Smith,  ||  why  don't  you  git  up  ?  1  did  [hie]  when  they  called 
me!" 

But  it's  no  laughing  matter  |  after  all ;  and  if  this  cause 
is  right  |  it  will  succeed;  |  if  it's  good  |    it  will  win. 

It  will  come  |  °bye  0and  °bye,  |  when  the  hosts  we  have 
labored  for,  |  come  up  over  a  thousand  battle-fields,  |  wav- 
ing in  golden  gva,m,°never  ||  Otobe  crushed  |  in  the  distillery. 

It  will  come  |  0bye  °and  0bye,  |  0when  the  trellised  vines 
hang  thick  with  their  purple  glory,  |  "never  ||  0to  be 
pressed  into  that  which  can  degrade  a  man. 

It  will  come  |  °bye  and  Dbye,  |  when  men  give  their  labor 
elsewhere,  |  and  their  orchards  hang  thick  |  with  pulpy, 
luscious  fruit,  |  ° never  ||  Oto  be  pressed  |  into  that  which  can 
destroy  society. 

(/)0It  will  come  |  °bye  and  0bye. 

( — )°  By3  and  bye  I  0we  shall  come  to  the  last  fire  |  in 
the  last  distillery  |  and  shall  put  it  out.  | 

°Bye  and  bye  I  0we  shall  come  to  the  last  stream  |  of 
liquid  death,  |  and  shall  seal  it  up  |  forever.  | 

°Bye  and  bye  I    we  shall  come  to  the  last  little  child  | 
(/)  and  shall  lift  it  up  and  standlt  |  0where  God  intended 
it  |  to  stand.  | 

( — )  0Bye  and  bye  I  we  shall  come  to  the  last  heart-broken 
wife  |  and  shall  wipe  her  tears  away  ! 

°Bye  and  bye  I  we  shall  come  to  the  last  \  poor  drunkard  | 


IMPERSONATIONS.  11 

and  shall  nerve  him  to  strike  off  his  burning  fetters,  |  and 
shall  help  him  make  a  glorious  accompaniment  |  {/)  to  the 
song  of  freedom  |  by  the  clanking  |  of  his  broken  chains ! 

(--)  0Bye  and  bye  I  0 the  pale  horse  |  0with  "Death  for  a 
rider  |  will  receive  a  check,  which  will  throw  him  (\)°°back 
upon  his  haunches,  |  and  the  loud  shout  of  deliverance  shall 
be  heard  ° yonder  [pointing  to  Heaven],  and  there  shall  be 
joy  in  heaven,  |  when  the  triumphs  of  this,  |  and  every 
other  |  great  moral  enterprise",  |  shall  usher  in  the  triumphs  | 
of  the  cross  of  Christ !  0I  believe  it^  |  and  for  this  j  I  work  ; 
and  when  I  die,  |  may  I  die  (/)  in  the  °harness,  |  with  the 
prayer  ever  °ferven~Ely  upon  my  lips,  |  "God  bless  the 
Right  ! " 

[For  description  of  costume,  etc.,  see  page  6]. 


A    CAMP-MEETING    HYMN. 


The  following  quaint  hymn  was  sung  at  a  negro  camp-meeting1  in 
Illinois : 

REMEMBER    ME. 

Why  don't  you  do  as  Peter  did, 

A-walking  on  the  sea  ? 
He  throwed  both  arms  about  his  head. 

Crying,  "  Good  Lord,  remember  me  !  " 
Then  remember  the  rich  and  remember  the  poor, 

And  remember  the  bound  and  the  free, 
And  when  you  are  done  remembering  round, 

Then,  good  Lord,  remember  me. 

If  I  could  stand  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 
I'd  throw  these  legs  as  fast  as  I  could — 

And  I'd  go  for  the  milk-white  shore. 
Then  remember  the  rich  and  remember  the  poor, 

And  remember  the  bound  and  the  free, 
And  when  you  are  done  remembering  round, 

Then,  good  Lord,  remember  me. 


12  HELEN  POTTER'S 


ON  TRIAL  FOR  YOTING. 


A    STUDY    OF    SUSAN    B.    ANTHONY. 


Argument. — The  following  speech  is  taken  from  the  stenographic 
Official  Report  of  the  proceedings  at  the  trial  of  Susan  B.  Anthony, 
in  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  for  voting  for  President  Grant.  She  cast  a 
vote  for  the  General,  to  test  the  loth  Amendment  of  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States,  in  regard  to  universal  franchise,  and  was 
arrested,  tried,  and  convicted  of  misdemeanor.  Miss  Anthony  pre- 
pared an  elaborate  defense  to  read  when  called  upon  by  the  judge 
for  reason  why  sentence  should  not  be  pronounced.  She  rose  to 
make  some  preliminary  remarks,  before  reading  her  paper;  but 
the  remarks  covered  the  entire  ground  of  controversy  ;  therefore 
she  resumed  her  seat.  The  "  remarks "  constitute  the  text  of 
this  impersonation. 

I 

ISS  ANTHONY  [seated  upon  the  platform]. 
Voice  b .  ( — )  Has  the  prisoner  anything 
to  say  why  sentence  shall  not  be  pro- 
nounced ? 

3fiss  A.  [rising.]  Yes,  your  honor,  |  I 
have  (\)  many  things  to  say;  |  for  in  your 
ordered  verdict  of  guilty,  you  have  trampled  under  foot  | 
every  |  vital  |  principle  |  of  our  (\)  government,  (.s <^ )  My 
(\)°natural  rights  |  my  (\)°civil  rights,  my  °political 
rights,  |  my  (\)°judicial  rights  |  are  all  alike  |  ignored. 
Robbed  of  the  fundamental  privilege  of  citizenship,  |  I  am 
degraded  |  from  the  status  of  a  citizen  to  that  of  a  subject; 
|  and  not  only  myself  individually,  but  all  of  my  sex,  |  are, 
by  your  honor's  verdict,  doomed  to  political  subjection  | 
under  this,  so-called,  Republican  form  of  (\)  government. 
(s  <Q  Your  denial  of  my  citizen's  right  to  vote,  |  is  the  denial 
of  my  right  of  consent  |  as  one  of  the  governed  ;  |  the  denial 


IMPERSONATIONS.  13 

of  my  right  of  representation  |  as  one  of  the  taxed ;  |  the 
denial  of  my  right  |  to  a  trial  by  a  jury  of  my  °pe"ers  |  0as 
an  offender  against  law,  |  therefore,  |  the  denial  of  my 
sacred  rights  |  to  life,  j  liberty, — property.  | 

Voice  b.  ( — )  The  Court  orders  the  prisoner  to  sit  down. 

Miss  A.  [still  standing.]  But  your  honor  will  not  deny  me 
this  one  and  only  poor  privilege  of  protest  against  this  high- 
handed outrage  |  upon  my  citizen's  rights.  May  it  please 
the  court  to  remember  |  that  since  the  day  of  my  arrest  last 
November,  |  this  is  the  first  time  |  that  either  myself  or 
°any  Opersoh  |  of  my  disfranchised  class  |  has  been  allowed 
a  word  of  defense  before  judge  or  jury — 

Voice  b.  Sit  down !     Sit  down  ! 

Miss  A.  [still  standing.]  All  of  my  prosecutors,  |  from  the 
8th  ward  corner  grocery  politician,  who  entered  the  com- 
plaint, |  tothe  United  States  Marshal,  |  (s  <^ )  Commissioner, 
District  Attorney,  |  District  Judge,  |  your  honor  on  the 
bench,  |  not  °one  0is  my  °peer,  |  but  each  and  all  are  my 
political  Sovereigns;  and  had  your  honor  submitted  my 
case  to  the  °jury,  |  as  was  clearly  your  duty,  |  even  cthen 
|  I  should  have  had  just  cause  of  °protest,  |  for  not  one  of 
those  men  |  was  my  °peer ;  but,  native  or  foreign  born,  | 
white  or  black,  |  rich  or  poor,  |  educated  or  ignorant,  | 
awake  or  asleep,  |  sober  or  drunk,  |  each  and  every  °man 
of  them  |  was  my  political  Osu°perior;  |  hence,  in  °no  sense 
0my  °peer.  A  commoner  of  England,  [  tried  before  a  jury 
of  "Lords,  would  have  far  less  cause  to  complain  |  than 
should  I,  |  a  ° woman,  j  tried  before  a  jury  of  °men.  Even 
my  °counsel,  |  the  Hon.  Henry  R.  Selden,  |  who  has  argued 
my  cause  so  ably,  so  earnestly,  so  0un°answerably  before 
your  honor,  |  is  my  (/)  political  Sovereign.  Precisely  as 
no  disfranchised  person  is  entitled  to  sit  upon  a  jury,  |  and 
no  woman  is  entitled  to  the  franchise,  |  so,  |  none  but  a 
regularly  admitted  0lawyer  |  is  allowed  to  practice  in  the 
courts,  |  and  no  °  woman  0can  gain  admission  (/")  Oto  the  °b"ar 


14  HELEN  POTTER'S 

— hence,  jury,  judge,  counsel,  must  °all  °be  |  of  thesu°perior 
class. 

Voice  b.  ( — )  The  Court   must   insist — the   prisoner   has 
been  tried  |    (/)  according  |  to  the  (/)  established  |  forms 
|  of  law. 

Miss  A.  °Yes,  Oyour  honor,  |  but  by  forms  of  law  |  all 
made  by  °meti  \  °interpreted  0by  men,  |  ( \ )  ° administered  0by 
men,  |  in  °favdr  Oof  °men,  |  and  against  °women ;  |  and 
hence,  |  your  honor's  ordered  verdict  of  "guilty"  |  against 
a  United  States  °citizen  |  Joy  the  ° exercise  of  "° that  citizen's 
right  to  vote"  |  simply  because  °that  0citizen  |  was  a  woman, 
and  not  a  man.  But,  yesterday,  |  the  same  man-made  forms 
of  law,  |  declared  it  a  crime  |  punishable  with  $1,000  fine  | 
and  six  months'  im°prisonmeht,  |  for  you,  or  me,  |  or  °any 
of  us  |  to  give  a  cup  of  cold  water,  |  a  crust  of  bread,  or  a 
night's  shelter  |  to  a  panting  fugitive  as  he  was  tracking 
his  way  to  (\)  °Canada. 

And  every  man  or  woman,  in  whose  veins  coursed  a  drop 
of  human  sympathy,  violated  that  wicked  law,  reckless  of 
consequences ;  and  was  justified  in  so  doing. 

As  then,  the  slaves  who  got  their  freedom  had  to  take  it 
|  over,  |  or  under,  J  or  through  |  the  unjust  forms  of  law,  | 
precisely  so,  now,  |  must  women,  |  to  get  °their  right  |  to  a 
voice  in  this  government  |  °take  it;  |  I  have  taken  mine,  | 
and  °mean  to  0take  it  |  at  every  °possible  Ooppor°tunity. 

Voice  b.  ( — )  The  Court  orders  the  prisoner  to  sit  down. 

Miss  A.  |  When  I  was  brought  before  your  honor  for 
trial,  |  I  hoped  for  a  broad  |  and  liberal  interpretation  |  of 
the  Constitution  |  and  its  recent  amend0ments,  [  that 
should  declare  all  United  States  citizens,  |  under  its  protect- 
ing °  aegis,  |  that  should  declare  ( / )  equality  of  rights  |  the 
national  guarantee  |  to  °all  0persons  |  °born  Oor  Natural- 
ized |  in  the  United  States.  But  (\)  failing  to  get  this 
justice  |  failing,  even,  to  get  a  trial  by  a  jury  °not  of  my 


IMPERSONATIONS.  15 

peers  |  I  ask  no  °leniency  |  at  your  hands  |  but  I  0de°mand 

|  the  °full  |  rigors  |  of  the  °law.     [Sit.] 

Voice  tr.  ( — )   The   Court   orders    the    prisoner  to   stand 
up.     [Rise.] 

The  sentence  of  the  Court  is  |  that  you  pay  a  tine  of  one 
hundred  dollars  |    and  the  costs  |  of  the  prosecution. 

Miss  A.  (s  <0  0May  it  please  your  honor,  |  all  I  possess  | 
is  a  $10,000  debt,  |  incurred  by  publishing  my  paper  |  "The 
Revolution"  |  four  years  ago,  the  sole  object  of  which  |  was 
to  educate  °all  Owomen  |  to  do  precisely  as  °1 0have  done, 

|  0re°bel  |  against  your  man-made,  |  unjust,  |  unconstitu- 
tional |  forms  of  law,  |  that  tax,  |  fine,  \  imprison  \  and  °hang 
Owomen,  |  while  they  deny  them  the  right  |  of  representa- 
tion in  the  government ;  |  and  I  shall  work  on  |  with  °might 
and  0main  |  to  pay  every  °dollar  |  of  that  °honest  °debt,  | 
but,  Oso  help  me  Heaven,  |  I'll  never  pay  a  °dime  |  of  this 
unjust  °penalty.  And  I  shall  earnestly  and  persistently 
Ocon°tinue  j  to  urge  °all  0 women  |  Oto  the  °practical  (\) 
recognition  of  the  old  revolutionary  °maxim,  |  that  "  Resist- 
ance to  tyranny  \  is  (\)  obedience  \  to  God."     [Exit.] 


Miss  Sosan  B.  Anthony,  the  well-known  advocate  of  woman's  suf- 
frage, was  born  in  1820.  She  is  a  trifle  above  medium  height  and 
weight,  is  well-proportioned  and  comely.  Upright  and  straight-for- 
ward in  mind  and  spirit,  if  she  thought  a  thing  wrong  no  power  on 
earth  could  make  her  accept  it  or  compromise  with  it ;  and  her  bear- 
ing obtains  somewhat  of  the  same  directness  ;  hence,  she  is  often 
called  angular.  Nevertheless,  her  nature  is  gracefully  unselfish, 
sympathetic  and  merciful ;  and  no  one  could  be  more  sensitive  to  un- 
just personal  criticism  than  this  devoted  champion  of  womanhood. 
Her  friends  realize  how  her  timidity  is  overruled  by  duty,  and  have 
often  seen  her  stand  blushing  and  shrinking  in  the  ante-room  when 
about  to  appear  before  an  audience.  In  fact,  she  represents  the  most 
admirable  qualities  of  both  man  and  woman,  viz. :  Strength,  courage, 
tenderness,  fidelity.  There  is  a  prevailing  idea  among  people  who 
have  no  acquaintance  with  Miss  Anthony,  that  she  is  hard  and  un- 
womanly, with  little  claim  to  personal  attraction.  This  is  *m  errone- 
ous notion  obtained  through  efforts  at  raillery  and  derision  of  the 
cause  she  advocates.  Pen  and  pencil  caricatures  of  this  noble  cham- 
pion of  woman's  rights  were  formerly  industriously  circulated  to  dis- 


16  HELEN  POTTER'S 

may  the  weak  and  amuse  the  crowd ;  but  the  exponent  of  "equal 
rights  "  has  lived  to  see  an  unpopular  subject  command  the  respect- 
ful thought  of  the  world's  great  and  gifted  ones. 

Miss  Anthony  lately  celebrated  her  seventieth  birthday,  and  was 
never  clearer,  never  keener,  never  more  eloquent  than  to-day  ;  the 
same  hopeful,  generous,  great  nature  that  she  was  twenty  years  ago. 
And  she  has  shown  such  absolute  and  continued  devotion  to  the  cause 
she  espoused  while  yet  in  her  youth,  as  to  cause  every  true  and 
thoughtful  woman's  heart  to  throb  with  gratitude  and  love. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — A  good  dark  silk  or  wool  walking  dress 
with  a  rich  plain  bonnet  to  match ;  point  lace  at  the  throat  and  wrists  ; 
a  shawl  or  wrap  over  the  left  arm  and  a  roll  of  paper  in  the  hand  ; 
dark  brown  hair  combed  smoothly  down  over  the  sides  of  the  face, 
covering  the  tops  of  the  ears ;  gold  spectacles  or  eye-glasses. 

Two  voices  are  required  for  this  speech ;  one  for  Miss  Anthony, 
another  for  Judge  Hunt.  The  former  rather  sharp  (It),  the  latter 
flat  (b).  Keep  the  position  and  appearance  of  Miss  Anthony 
throughout  the  entire  speech,  and  disguise  your  voice  when  speaking 
for  the  Judge,  so  as  to  make  it  appear  to  proceed  from  some  other 
quarter.  This  is  important  Take  short  steps  upon  entering  and  re- 
tiring from  the  platform.  Throw  the  wrap  or  shawl  over  the  chair- 
back  and  sit  down,  but  never  lean  back.  Intense  natures  like  hers 
sit  forward.  Make  few  gestures,  and  those  of  the  emphatic  sort  only, 
and  leave  the  platform  the  moment  you  are  done  speaking.  If  re- 
called enter  quickly,  bow  abruptly  and  retire. 


THE  TRAMP'S   SOLILOQUY. 

Beside  a  straw-stack  sat  a  tramp, 

A  jolly  tramp  and  wise, 
Who,  while  he  patched  his  tattered  coat, 

Did  thus  soliloquize : 
"  It  seems  sew  sad  that  my  lone  life 

Doth  ever  downward  tend, 
And  rags  me  into  wretchedness ; 

But  still  I'm  on  the  mend. 
"  And  when  I  needle  little  cash 

I  make  no  loud  laments, 
But  by  a  straw-stack  sit  me  down 

And  gather  in  my  rente." 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


17 


AMERICAN  ART. 


A  STUDY  OF  MRS.  JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 


Note. — Text  taken  from  the  N.  Y.  Herald's  report  of  the  first 
"Woman's  Congress,"  at  the  Union  League  Club  Hall,  New  York, 
in  1863. 


'THINK,   |  (-  -)   °when  American  art  |  is  held 
up  |  to   satire  |  and    °con0dem°nation,  ||  0it    is 
°well,  |  Oal°so,  |  to  give  it   °due   0credit  |  °for 
what  it  has  Odone.   ( — )  Sir  Benjamin  West, 
|  0and  Bradford,  j|  0are   °now  |  °in  0Eugland. 
tfi.  0In  "Rome,  |  0there  are  °no  German  Oor  It0al0- 

l  yrdj)  ian  (/)  0studi°es  |  0as  °prominent  |  0as  °those 
^b=^  |  °of  0A°meri0can  ||  ( — )  0meu  |  0and  women. 
0Do°mestic(/)  0 architecture  |  0has  °made  |  great  prog- 
ress |  0here.  0The  °mass  |  0of  0 A°meri0can  °people  |  0have 
°bet0ter  0dwell°ings  |  0than  °any  °ot0her  °people  |  0in  the 
world.  0As  I  °passed  |  °through  |  0Ven°ice,  |  0the  °cit0y 
Oof  0pala°ces,  ||  0I  °longed  for  the  (\)  °scrubbing-brush,  || 
Oso  °great  |  °was  the  onlth.  ( — )  °Russel  Gurney  |  said  to 
me  |  0recent°ly,  ||  that  there  were  °no  |  °dwell0ings  ||  0at 
°Eng0lish  (/)  0watering-°places,  ||  ( — )  °equal  j  °to  the 
0mag°ninocent  |  0villas  ||  °at  |  0Newport.  ( — )  °Let  us,  | 
then,  |  stand  by  oA0meriocan  °art  |  °and  |  0artists. 


18  HELEN  POTTER'S 


BATTLE-HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC. 


BY  JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 


Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord ; 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath 

are  stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift 

sword ; 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling 

camps, 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and 

damps ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring 

lamps ; 

His  day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel : 
"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you   my  grace 

shall  deal ; 
Let  the  hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 

JSince  God  is  marching  on." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 
retreat ; 

He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment- 
seat  : 

Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him  !  be  jubilant  my  feet ! 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me ; 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free. 

"While  God  is  marching  on. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  19 

Mrs.  Joma  Ward  Howe,  of  Boston,  is  a  representative  New  Eng- 
land woman ;  a  cultured  and  accomplished  society  leader ;  a  reformer 
and  a  poet.  She  was  born  in  New  York,  May  27,  1S19.  She  is  tall 
and  erect,  stately  and  dignified  ;  with  a  repose  born  of  conscious 
superiority.  When  addressing  an  audience  she  seldom  changes  her 
position  or  expression.     Her  hair  is  light  and  complexion  pale. 

Costume  and  Rendition.— A  plane  walking-dress  of  dark,  rich  ma- 
terial; old  thread-lace  wherever  available — at  throat,  wrists,  and 
comprising  the  head-dress,  or  ornamental  portion  of  the  hat. 

Raise  the  eyebrows  ;  cross  the  hands  at  or  near  the  girdle  ;  elevate 
the  shoulders,  and  bring  the  elbows  close  to  the  sides ;  speak  in  a 
high  key,  with  close  teeth,  and  you  have  the  salient  points  of  this 
most  distinguished  American. 


MY  OWN  NATIYE  LAND. 


I've  roved  over  mountain,  I've  crossed  over  flood ; 

I've  traversed  the  wave-rolling  sand ; 
Though  the  fields  were  as  green,  and  the  moon  shone  as 
bright, 
Yet  it  was  not  my  own  native  land. 

No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no.     No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no. 
Though  the  fields  were  as  green,  and  the  moon  shone  as 
bright, 
Yet  it  was  not  my  own  native  land. 

The  right  hand  of  friendship  how  oft  I  have  grasped, 
And  bright  eyes  have  smiled  and  looked  bland, 

Yet  happier  far  were  the  hours  that  I  passed 
In  the  West — in  my  own  native  land. 

Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes,  yes,  yes.     Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes, 
yes,  yes. 
Yet  happier  far  were  the  hours  that  I  passed 
In  the  West — in  my  own  native  land. 

Then  hail,  dear  Columbia,  the  land  that  we  love, 

Where  flourishes  Liberty's  tree  ; 
The  birth-place  of  Freedom,  our  own  native  home, 
'Tis  the  land,  'tis  the  laud  of  the  free  ! 

Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes,  yes,  yes.     Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes, 
yes,  yes. 
The  birth-place  of  freedom,  our  own  native  home, 
'Tis  the  land,  'tis  the  land  of  the  free  ! 


20  HELEN  POTTER'S 


THE  TRIAL  OF  QUEEN  KATHARINE. 

PART  FIRST. 


From  "  King  Henry  VIII." — Shakespeare. 


A   STUDY    OF    MISS   CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN. 


Argument. — History  informs  us  that  Henry  VIII  ,  of  England,  had 
six  wives,  five  of  whom  he  successively  caused  to  he  put  away  or 
executed.  His  first  wife,  Katharine  of  Avagon,  held  her  place  some 
twenty  years;  but  was  put  away  to  make  room  for  Amie  Boleyn, 
who  succeeded  her  as  Queen.  The  King  petitioned  the  Pope  to  set 
aside  the  marriage  as  illegal ;  hence  the  famous  plea  set  forth  by 
the  Queen,  showing  their  marriage  to  have  been  well  advised  and 
legal. 


Act  II.     Scene  IV. — A  Hall  in  Blackfriars. 

Q.  Kath.  Sir,  I  desire  you,  do  me  right  |  and  justice ; 

(\)  And  to  bestow  your  (\)  °pity  on  me,  |  for 

I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  °stranger, 

Born  (\)  °out  of  your  dominions;  having  here  | 

No  judge  indifferent,  |  nor  no  more  0  assurance  | 

Of  equal  friendship  |  and  proceeding.     Alas,  sir,  [rise] 

In  what  j  have  I  offended  you  ?  |  what  cause  | 

Hath  my  behavior    |  °given  to  your  displeasure,  | 

That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off, 

And  take  your  good  grace  from  me  ?  (\)  °Heaven  witness, 

I  have  been  to  you  a  true  |  and  humble  wife,  | 

At  all  times  |  to  your  will  |  conformable. 

Sir,  |  call  to  mind  | 
That  I  have  been  your  wife,  |  in  °this  0  obedience,  | 
Upward  of  twenty  years,  |  and  have  been  blest  ( ') 
With  many  children  by  you.     If,  in  the  course 

( 1 )  Press  your  hand  to  your  breast,  and  bow  the  head  somewhat,  lowering 
the  voice  at  the  last  phrase,  "  with  many  children  by  you." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  21 

And  process  of  this  time,  |  you  can  report,  | 

And  °prove  it  too,  |  against  mine  honor  aught,  | 

My  bond  to  wedlock,  |  or  my  love  and  duty,  | 

Against  your  sacred  pers"on,  |  in  God's  name,  | 

Turn  me  away;  |  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt  | 

Shut  °door  upon  me,  |  and  so  |  give  me  up  | 

To  the  sharpest  |  kind  |  of  justice.  |  Please  you,  sir, 

The  king,  your  father,  |  was  reputed  j  for 

A  prince  most  prudent,  |  of  an  °excellent  | 

And  °un0match'd  °wit  and  "judgment :  |  Ferdinand, 

(\)°My  0  father,  |  King  of  Spain  (''),  was  reckon'd  one 

The  °wisest  prince,  |  that  there  had  reign'd  |  by  many 

A  year  before".  |  It  is  not  to  be  question'd  | 

That  they  had  gather'd  a  °wise  council  to  them  j 

Of  eveiy  °realm,  |  that  did  de°bate  this  business,  | 

Who  deem'd  our  marriage  lawful.     Wherefore  I 

Beseech  you,  sir,  |  to  spare  me,  [  till  I  may 

Be  by  my  friends  in  °Spain  advis'd ;  whose  counsel  | 

I  will  °im0plo"re ;  0if  °not  |  i'  the  name  of  God,  | 

Your  pleasure  |  be  fulfil  I'd  ! 

Cam.   [1st  Voiced]  She's  going  away. 

King.  [2d  Voice,X]  Call  her  again. 

Clerk.  [BcZ  Voice,^]]  Katharine,   Queen   of    England,   come 

into  the  court. 
Guil.  [Ath  Voice,\\  Madam,  you  are  called  back. 
Queen.  What  need  you  Onote  °it  ?    'Pray  you,  |  keep  your 

way : 
When  °you  are  called,  |  return.  (3) 

(  2  )  Attain  to  full  height,  make  an  outward  gesture  at  "  Spain,''  bring  the  hand 
to  the  zenith  on  "wisest,"  then  across  you  to  the  left  shoulder,  as  if  to  say, 
"  respect  my  father  and  me  ;  "  then  assume  the  argumentative  to,  "  It  is  not  to 
be  questioned,"  etc.;  the  supplicating  to"  implore,"  and  proudly  carry  your- 
self to  the  end  of  the  scene. 

(s)  As  if  tliis  man  was  in  your  way,  halt  and  motion  him  to  go  on  ;  he  does 
not  move  ;  pause  as  if  thwarted,  then  turn  toward  the  audience,  brows  con- 
tracted, and  eyes  upward  (not  the  face),  and  in  a  vexed  manner  add  :  "Now, 
the  Lord  help'"  etc. 

(t)  Ordinary  voice. 

(t)  Heavy,  commanding  voice. 

(if)  Monotonous,  sonorous,  far-off  voice  of  a  crier. 

(II)  Servile,  yet  peremptory  voice.  ■ 


22  HELEN  POTTER'S 

[Loud]  °Now  the  Lord  help,  ] 
They  vex  rue  |  past  my  °patieiice !   [louder]   °°Pray  you,  \ 

pass  on. 
I  will  °not  0tarry;  [slowly]  no,  |  nor  ever  |  more,  | 
Upon  °this  0business,  |  my  appearance  maEe  |  [haughtily] 
In  (\)  °°any  of  their  courts.     [Exit  with  the  right  arm  up- 
lifted, in  indignation  and  defiance.] 


Imaginary  Scene  and  Characters. — In  the  foregoing  impersona- 
tion, imagine  the  court  convened,  the  King  on  his  throne  right,  the 
judges  seated  in  the  rear.  You  will  enter  left,  and  with  measured 
steps  approach  the  dignitaries,  facing  the  rear  of  the  stage.  Bow  in 
courtly  fashion  three  or  four  times,  as  if  bowing  to  real  persons,  ad- 
vancing a  step  between  the  bows.  You  are  now  well  to  the  rear  of  the 
scene,  and  have  an  opportunity  to  turn  and  face  the  audience  ;  now, 
with  outstretched  hand,  approach  the  King. 

Having  reached  the  centre  of  the  stage  (or  a  little  in  front  and  right 
of  centre),  kneel  and  make  the  appeal.  After  the  speech,  turn  to 
make  your  exit  left.  and.  as  you  go,  carry  on  the  following  conversa- 
tion, being  careful  to  conceal,  as  much  as  possible,  the  fact  that  you 
are  talking  for  them  all. 


SONG. 

AUBREY    DE    VERE. 

When  I  was  young,  I  said  to  Sorrow, 

"  Come,  and  I  will  play  with  thee." 

He  is  near  me  now  all  day ; 

And  at  night  returns  to  say, 

"  I  will  come  again  to-morrow, 

I  will  come  and  stay  with  thee." 

Through  the  woods  we  walk  together ; 
His  soft  footsteps  rustle  nigh  me ; 
To  shield  an  unregarded  head, 
He  hath  built  a  winter  shed ; 
And  all  night  in  rainy  weather, 
I  hear  his  gentle  breathings  by  me. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  23 


KATHARINE  OF  ARAGON. 

PART  SECOND. 


Act  IV.     Scene  I. — A  Gothic  apartment  in  Kimbolton  Castle. 
Enter  Katharine,  Dowager,  sick. 

Kath.  °Oh,  0Cromwefl,  |  I  am  |  sick  j  (\)  unto  death: 
My  legls,  |  like  loaded  branches,  |  bow  (/)  to  the  earth,  | 
Willing  |  to  leave  |  their  burden.     [/Sits  in  a  large  chair.] 
Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  0Crom°well,  (/)0as  thou  led'st  me,  | 
(-  -)  That  the  great  child  of  honor, — Cardinal  °Wolsey,  || 
Was  deaTd  ?  ||  [Nod  at  his  supposed  answer  and  say  "  ugh!"] 
Prythee,  good  0Crom°vveTl,  |  tell  me  |  (\)  how  he  died? 
If  well,  |  ( — )  he  stepped  before  me,  |  °happily,  | 
(\)  °For  my  example.     [Nod  and  change  expression  as  if 

hearing  a  story.] 
( — )  After  my  death,  |  I  wish  no  other  herald,  | 
No  °other  °speaker   |  of  my  "living  Oactions, 
To  keep  mine  °honor  from  {/)  0 corruption,  | 
But  such  an  °honest  0 chronicler  |  0as  Cromwell ; 
Whom  I  °most  hated  |  °living,  |  thou  hast  (\)  °made  me, 
With  thy  (/)  Oreligious  "truth  |  0and  modesty, 
Now  |  in  his  ashes  |  °honor:  |  °Peace  be  0with  him  ! 

[to  the  maid] 
°Patience,  |  be  near  me  still.     °Good  0Crom°weTl, 
( — )  Cause  the  musicians  |  play  me  that  °sad  Onote  | 
(/)  I  named  |  (\)  my  knell,  |  whilst  I  sir,  meditating  | 
On  that  0ce°lestial  (/)  Oharmony    |  (\)  I  go  to. 

[Compose  yourself  as  for  sleep,  and,  if  convenient,  ham  soft 
music  from  unseen  'musicians.  Awake  in  tremor,  and, 
looking  up  front  and  extending  one  or  both  hands,  cry  out 
in  the  words  of  the  text.] 


24  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Kath.  °Spirits  of  peace,  where  °are  ye  ?  are  ye  all  gone  | 
And  leave  me  here  |  in  wretchedness  j  behind  ye  ? 

[Imaginary  attendants  come  and  kneel  near  you  ;  look  down 
and  shrink  from  them,  saying :] 
It  is  not  (\)  °you  I  call  for": 
Saw  ye  none  enter  |  since  I  slept  ? 
No!     Saw  you  not,  (\)  even  now,  |  a  blessed  troop 
Invite  me  to  a  banquet,  |  whose  bright  faces 
Cast  °thou0sand  °beams  (/)  upon  me,  |  like  the  sun? 
They  promised  me  |  °eternal  |  0happine"ss ;  || 
(/)  And  brought  me  °garlands,  |  Cromwell,  |  which  I  feel  | 
I  am  °not  0worthy  yet  |  to  wear ;  |  I  shall,  || 
(\)  Assuredly. 

[Imagine  Guilford  speaks  to  you,  and  say  his  words  for  him 
under  cover  of  a  handkerchief.'] 
Ouil.  ( — )  An't  like  your  grace — [Start  and  look  left.] 
Kath.  (\)  You  are  a  °°saucy  °fellow;  | 
(\)  °Deserve  we  |  no  more  |  reverence? 

[Under  cover,  speak  for  Guilford  again.] 
Chut.  (--)  I  humbly  do  entreat  your  highness'  pardon; 
There  is  a  gentleman  sent  from  the  King  |  to  see  you. 

[Turn  your  eyes,  but  not  the  head,  in  the  direction  of  Guilford, 
and  stare  with  open  'mouth  some  seconds,  then  slowly  turn 
them  in  the  opposite  direction,  put  out  your  hand  in  a  little 
motion  of  concession  toward  Cromwell  and  speak  slowly.] 

Kath.  ( )  Admit  him  entrance,  Cromwell ;  0but  °this 

fellow  |  0let  me  (\)  °ne'er  see  again.  [Nervously  close  your 
robes  about  you  as  though  much  annoyed,  and  settle  back  into 
your  chair.  Exit  Guilford  and  Cromwell.  Re-enter  Crom~ 
well  with  Capucius.] 

Kath.  If  my  sight  fail  not,  ||    [lean  forward  shading  the 
eyes  with  the  right  hand] 

You  should  be  lord  ambassador  |  from  the  emperor,  || 
My  royal  nephew,  ||  (/)  and  your  name  |  cCa°pucius. 

Voice.  ( — )  The  same,  madam !     [Settle  back  wearily.] 


IMPERSONATIONS.  25 

Kath.  (~~ )  °0h,  my  lord, 
The  times  |  and  titles  now  |  are  altered  °strangely 
0With  me,  |  since  first  |  you  knew  me.     But,  (/)  I  pray  you, 
(/)What  is  your  °pleasure  |  0with  me?  | 

Voice.  ( — )  °The  King  sends  you  his  princely  commen- 
dations, | 
And  heartily  entreats  you  |  take  good  comfort. 

Kath.  [feebly].  °Oh,  my   good   lord  |  (\)  °that  comfort 
°comes  °too  |  0late  !  | 

'Tis  like  a  pardon  |  °af0ter  |  (\)  °execution; 
That  gentle  physic  |  given  in  time,  |  (\)  °had  cured  me; 
0But  °now  |  0I'm  past  all  °comforts  0here,  |  °but  0prayers. 
0How  °does  J  0his  highness? 

Voice.  °Well!  __ 

Kath.  0So  may  he  °ever  |  Odo !  and  °ever  Oflourish 
00When  I  |  shall  dwell  |  with  worms. 
[p.]  Patience,  is  that  letter 
I  caused  you  to  write  |  yet  sent  away  ? 

[Take  a  large  envelope,  addressed  and  sealed  with  red  sealing- 
wax,  from  a  secret  pocket,  and,  as  if  just  handed  to  you, 
hold  it  forth.] 
Kath.  Sif7 1  I  most  humbly  pray  you  |  to  deliver 
This  |  to  my  lord,  |  the  King. 
In  which  |  I  have  Ocom°mended  |  to  his  Ogood°ness 
The  model  |  of  our  chaste  loves,  |  his  young  daughter ; 
[Press  a  large,  soft  handkerchief  to  your  eyes  and  sob  ;  after 
a  moment,  go  on  with  the  text,  still  sobbing  with  covered  face.] 
"Beseeching  him  |  to  give  her  |  °virtuo"us  °breeding :  | 
0And  a  °little  (/)0to  love  her  |  for  her  (\)  °mother's  sake  \ 

that  loved  him,  | 
(\)°Heaven  knows  |  °how  0dearly.  ||  (--)°My  next    poor 

petition  | 
Is,  |  that  his  noble  grace  |  would  have  °some  0pity  | 
Upon  my  wretched  women,  |  that  so  long 
Have  followed  |  °both  (/)  0my  fortunes  |  °faithfully ; 


m  HELEN  POTTER'S 

The  last  |  is  for  my  °men ;   °they  |  are  the  °poorest, 
0But  °poverty  |j  could  never  |  draw  them  |  °from  0me ; 
(/)  °And  good,  0my  °lord,  |  [lean  forward  as  with  effort] 
°By  that  you  O0love  |  0the  °dearest,  |  (\)  °in  this  world,  | 
(/)  As  you  wish  Christian  °peace  |  Oto(\)°souls  departed,  | 
°Staiid  |  these  poor  (\)  °people's  friend,  |  and  °urge  0the 

°King|  -    _ 

To  do  me  |  this  °last  |  0right.  | 
Voice.  1  will.     [Sink  back  exhausted.] 

Kath.  I  (\)  °thank  you,  |  Ohonest  lord.  |  (--)  Remember  me 
In  all  0humility  |  unto  his  highness ; 
{-  -)  °Say,  |  his  long  trouble  j  now,  |  is  passing  | 
°Out  |  (\)  Oofjjhis  0 world;  |  tell  him  |  in  °death    j    (\)  °I 

blessed  him, 
(-  -)  For  so — I  will.  ||  (v~^)  (-  -)   °Mine   eyes  grow  dim ! 

Farewell,  | 
My  lord.     °Fare;)well !   [pause] 
0FareweIl.  ||   °Patience,  °do  Onot  °we"ep.  || 

[Put  out  the  hand,  as  if  upon  the  head  of  some  one  kneeling 

before  you,  then  settle  back  as  before.] 
(-  -)  °When  I  am  dead,  || 

°Let  me  be  used  j|  0with  °°honor:  ||  ("w^~)   strew   me   over 
(--)  With  maiden  flowers,   ||  that  all  the  O0world   |   0may 

°kn6w  | 
0I  was  a  °chaste  0wife  |  Ounto  my  grave  !  ||  [pause] 
Altho'  (\)  °unqueened,  ||  inter  me  ||  — °like  0a  queen,  | 
(-  -)  And  daughter  j|  [try  to  rise]  to  a  (asp.)  00Kmg ! 

[  With  great  effort,  as  if  feeble,  grasp  the  arms  of  the  chair, 

and  try  to  rise  ;  drop  back  limp  ;  quiver  or  jerk  twice ;  let 

the  head  fall  to  one  side  and  breathe  far  apart,   until  the 

curtain  closes  upon  you.] 


Charlotte  Saunders  Cushman  was  born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  July  23, 
1816  ;  and  died  there  in  February,  1876.  She  was  buried  in  Mount 
Auburn  cemetery,  near  Boston.     Miss  Cushman  came  from  staunch 


IMPERSONATIONS.  27 

old  Puritan  stock.  She  inherited  strength  of  character  from  no  less 
a  fountainhead  than  that  of  one  of  those  citizens,  who,  fleeing-  from 
persecution  two  centuries  ago,  came  to  our  shores  for  freedom  to 
worship  God.  No  luxury  veiled  in  childhood  the  hardships  of  matu- 
rity. It  was  constant  self-denial,  struggle,  and  disappointment;  but 
as  the  eagle,  with  eye  aloft,  mounts  heavenward,  so  did  this  great 
and  zealous  servant  of  Time  tix  her  gaze  upon  the  heights,  and  search 
diligently  for  the  noblest  and  best  in  art ;  and  now  her  attainments 
stand  forth  a  monument  to  her  patience  and  perseverance.  No  woman 
of  less  courage  and  fortitude  of  soul,  could  have  overcome  such 
mighty  obstacles  as  did  this  one.  Yet  some  of  her  greatest  achieve- 
ments are  unrecorded,  and  can  never  be  known  to  us.  She  had  a 
voice  for  song,  and  it  was  ruined  by  her  teachers  ;  she  was  homely, 
and  had  to  compete  with  beauty ;  she  was  poor,  and  without  influence 
of  the  great ;  and,  therefore,  could  not  choose  as  to  time,  place,  or 
work.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  she  towered  above  all  her  competi- 
tors, and  stood  alone  in  the  field  of  histrionic  art  in  two  continents. 
Her  name  and  fame  will  ever  stand  recorded  with  those  of  the  greatest 
artists  of  the  age  in  which  she  lived.  For  years  she  continued  her 
work  while  suffering  much  physical  pain  of  which  the  world  knew 
nothing.  Brave,  cheerful,  hopeful,  even  when  the  hand  of  death  was 
upon  her,  this  heroic  and  undaunted  soul  passed  out  from  her  earth- 
life. 

In  personal  appearance,  Miss  Cushman  was  considerably  above  the 
medium  size  and  weight;  tall  and  majestic,  she  moved  with  stately 
grace.  Her  countenance  was  noble,  and  beamed  with  intelligence; 
while  her  prominent  chin  denoted  a  strength  and  firmness  of  character, 
not  to  be  swayed  nor  trifled  with.  She  was  well  fitted  by  nature,  as 
well  as  by  study,  to  assume  the  roles  which  made  her  famous.  Kath- 
arine of  Aragon,  Lady  Macbeth,  Meg  Merrilies,  Hamlet  and  Cardinal 
Wolsey  were  among  her  greatest  achievements.  She  played  for  the 
last  time  in  Boston,  May  15,  1875,  although  she  afterward  gave  public 
readings  in  some  of  our  large  cities. 

Costumk.  For  Part  First. — (Copied  from  Miss  Cushman's  imper- 
sonation of  Queen  Katherine.)  A  crimson  velvet  robe  (demi-train),  and 
cloak  with  ermine  border  (full  train);  a  crown  and  jeweled  girdle  with 
pendant  to  the  feet ;  a  necklace  of  pearls ;  a  long  white  lace  scarf  over 
the  back-head,  and  fastened  each  side  with  gold  pins,  the  ends  falling 
back  over  the  crimson  cloak.     Hair  a  la  pompadour. 

For  Part  Second. — A  loose  white  gown  of  soft  material  and  large 
flowing  sleeves  ;  a  rich  shawl  trailing  from  the  shoulders  in  full  ex- 
panse ;  the  face  bandaged  in  white,  as  if  to  hold  up  the  chin ;  a  large, 
soft  white  cloth,  like  the  robe,  across  the  forehead  (as  a  Sister  of 
Charity)  and  falling  about  the  shoulders  ;  a  large  soft  handkerchief 
and  a  large,  sealed  envelope  or  letter  in  a  pocket  handy  for  use. 
A  large  arm-chair  should  be  placed  near  the  centre  of  the  stage,  close 
by  a  curtain  or  screen,  so  that  you  can  take  the  chair  with  as  few 
visible  steps  as  possible  ;  for,  being  ill  and  feeble,  you  could  not  take 
many  steps  alone ;  and,  again,  being  well  back  upon  the  stage,  the 
make-up  and  ensemble  will  be  more  effective. 


28  HELEN  POTTER'S 


WOLSEY'S  SOLILOQUY. 


From  "  King  Henry  VIII." — Shakespeare. 


A     STUDY     OP     MR.     GEORGE     VANDENHOFP. 


Argument. — Cardinal  Wolsey,  Prime  Minister  of  England  in  the  reign 
of  King  Henry  VIII.,  rose  to  the  highest  point  of  fame  and  power, 
only  to  suffer  the  King's  displeasure,  and  end  in  humiliation  and 
disgrace.  Shakespeare,  in  his  historical  play,  admirably  portrays 
the  Cardinal's  character,  his  towering  ambition,  cunning,  diplo- 
macy, and  fall. 


Act  III.     Scene  II. 

[Full  asp.]  °Fare0well,  °a  long  farewell,  |    (\)  to  all  my 

greatness ! 
This  |  is  the  state  |  °of  0man ;  0  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope,  °to-morro~w  |  °blossoms,  \ 
And  ( ' )  bears  his  blushing  honors  °thick  |  0upon  him ; 
The  third  day  |  comes  a  °frost,  |  a  00killing  |  frost ;  |  ( a ) 
(--)  And  |  «)  when  he  thinks,  |  Ogood,  easy  man!   "full 

surely  | 
His  greatness  is  0a  °ripening  |  (3)  °nips  |  his  root 
0And  °then  |  he  falls  (4)  ||  0as  /dot  (')  0I  have  ventured, 
( — )  Like  little  wanton  boys  |  that  swim  on  bladders,  | 
°These  many  summers  |  in  a  sea  of  glory  ; 
But  (6)  °far  beyond  |  my  depth :  (<)  f)  My  high-blown 

pride 


» )  Horizontal  front,  R.  H.  P. 
2  )  Hands  to  chest  as  if  cold. 
»)  R.  H.  vertical. 

4)  Both  hands  up. 

5 )  Hands  down  and  back  to  audience. 

6 )  Point  with  index  finger. 

7 )  Go  up  the  scale  to  "  pride." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  29 

At  length  °broke  |  °un0der  °me  :  and  now  has  left  me,  | 
Weary,  and  °old  °with  0ser0vice,  |  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  0rude  °stream  |  (8)  °that  must  forever  |  °hide  me. 
(--)  °Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  j  (\)  °I  hate  ye  !  I 
I  (9)  feel  my  heart  |  °new  0 opened:  |  °0h,  how  wretched 
0Is  that  °poor  "man  |  that  hangs  on  0princes'  |  favors*  | 
(/)  There  is,  |  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  ( /  )0aspire  to,  jj 
(\)°That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  |  (/)0andour  ruin,  || 
(/)  0More    pangs    and     °feafs    j|    {/)    Dthan    wars    ot 

(,0)  °°womeh  |  have; 
uA!nd  |  when  he  0falls  ||  0he  0falls  like  |  °Lucifer, 
»'  \)  0ONever  I  °to  hope  |  00aganf.  ( " )  (J) 

[Enter  Cromwell.] 
(    \  °Why,  how  now  ||  ( 13)  °Crom0well !  [hold  the  "  1."] 

Vrom.  [Disguised  voice.]  I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir. 

Wol.  0What,  |  amazed  | 
0At  my  °mis0fort°unes  ?    °Can  thy  spirit  wonder, 
( — )  °A.  great    man    should  0de°cline  ?    °Nay,    an'  °you 

°°weep,  | 
0I'm  fallen  [  0in°deed. 

Grom.  [Disg.  voice.]  (--)  How  does  your  grace  ? 

Wol.  0Wliy,  |  ^well;  |  ^  ^ 

(\)  °Never  so  truly  |  °happy,  |  (--)  0my  good  Cromwell. 
(\)  I  know  myself  now ;  ( — )  and  I  feel  within  me  j 
( — )  A  peace  |  above  all  "earthly  |  0dignities.  | 
A  still  |  and  quiet  |  Oconscience. 
°The  king  has  0cured  me — 

(-  -)    0I  humbly   thank  his  grace ;   |  and  |  from  these 
shoulders  | 

( 8 )  Step  back,  showing  fear. 

( 9 )  Hand  on  the  heart. 

(10)  B.  H.  up— the  climax  of  force  is  on  the  word  "women." 

( *' )  Both  hands  spread;  covers  head  and  face  with  robe;  slaps  his  head  ;  falls 
upon  the  chair  and  table,  limp  and  overcome. 

i12)  Raises  his  head. 

( ls )  Turns  his  eyes  to  Cromwell  and  exclaims  in  surprise. 

(t)  For  a  monologue,  continue  from  the  words  :  "  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a 
tear,"  etc.,  Page  31.    For  a  reading,  include  the  dialogue. 


30  HELEN  POTTER'S 

These  °ruined  "pillars,  |  (- -)  out  of  his  pity,  |  [/  to  the;] 

taken 
A  load  |  would  sink  a  °°navy ;  Otoo  much  00honbl\ 
°Oh,  'tis  a  burden,  [rises]  0Cromwell,  |  °'tis  a  burden  j 
°Too0heavy  |  ( — )0for  a  man  that  hopes  |  for  heaven! 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice]  (-  -)  I'm  glad  your  grace  has  made 
that  right  use  of  it. 

Wol.  0I  °hope  0I  °have  ;  (-  -)  Tin  able  now,  [  0methinks, 
( — )  Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel,  | 

( )  To  endure  more  miseries,  |  and  greater  °far,  fl 

(/)0Than  my  weak-hearted  (14)  enemies,  j  °dare  offer. 
(\)  (")  °What  news  abroad? 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice]  ( — )    The  heaviest,  and  the  worst,  | 
Is  your  displeasure  with  the  King. 

Wol.  °God  bless  him  ! 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice.]  ( — )  The  next  is,  |  that  Sir  Thomas 
Moore  |  is  chosen  Lord  Chancellor,  |  in  your  place. 

Wol.  [q.  asp.]    (\)  °That's  somewhat  |   °sudden;    [Eyes 
wide  open',] 
0But  he's  a  learned  man.     °May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness'  favor,  and  do  justice 
For  truth's  sake,  and  his  conscience  ;  |  0that  his  bones 
(When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings) 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphan's  tears  |  °wept  Oon  °them ! 
(,B)  °What  Omore. 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice.]  ( — )  That,  Cranmer  is  returned  with 
welcome,  ] 
Installed  Lord  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  | 

Wol.  (\)  °°That's  0news  |  0in°deed!  [/Surprise  and  pain.] 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice.]  ( — )  Last,  |  that  the  Lady  Anne,  | 
Whom  the  King  hath  in  secrecy  long  married,  | 
This  day  was  viewed  in  open  |  as  the  queen, 

( 14 )  Waves  R.  H. 
( ls )  Lightly  spoken. 
( " )  Light  and  simple. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  31 

Going  to  chapel ;  and  the  voice  is  now  | 
Only  about  |  her  coronation. 

Wol.  (")  (\)  °There  was  the  weight  |  that  pulled  me 
down,  |  0  Cromwell ! 

All  my  glories 
In  that  °one  0  woman    |  ( — )  0I  have  lost  |  forever :  || 
( — )  0No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  mine  honors,  || 
Or  gild  again  |  the  noble  troops  |  that  waited  | 
Upon  my  smiles.  ||  Gofget  thee  from,  me,  |  Cromwell;  | 
0I  am  a  poor,  °fallen  0mah,  |  Oun°worthy  now  | 
( — )  To  be  thy  lord  and  master,     (q.)  0Seek  the  King; 
( — )  I  have  told  him 

What,  |  and  how  ( \)  ctrue  thou  art ;  he  will  ad°vance  0thee ; 
°Some  little  memory  of  me  |  will  stir  hiiif,  | 
0(I  know  his  noble  nature,)  °not  to  let 
°Thy  Ohopeful  service  |  0perish  °tob :  (\)  °go,  Cromwell. 

Crom.  [Disg.  voice.]  Oh,  my  lord,  | 
(\)  Must  I,  then,  leave  you?     °Must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so-  noble,  and  so  true  a  master  ? 
{Crying.]  Bear  witness,  |  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron,  | 
With  what  a  °sorrow  |  0Cromwell  |  leaves  his  lord. 
The  King  |  shall  have  my  °service,  |  but  my  prayers  | 
Forever  and  forever  |  shall  be  yours.     [Kneels.] 
[Continue  here  the  monologue.] 

Wol.  (I8)  (--)  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear  | 
In  all  |  my  miseries ;  but  thou  hast  (\)  °forced  me, 
Out    of    my    honest    °truth    [trem.],    (19)   Oto    play  |  the 

woman.  ||  (20) 
(--)  Let's  dry  our  eyes :  (21)  and  thus  far  [sits]  °hear  me, 

0Cromwell, 
[Cromwell  rises.]  And  —  (--)  when  I  am  forgotten  ||  (/)  °as 
I  shall  be,  I 


( " )  R.  H.  ascending ;  open  fingers  and  shaking  the  hand. 

( 18 )  Hands  clasped  on  the  bosom. 

( 19 )  Pats  Cromwell  on  the  back. 

i ao )  Weeps  and  drops  his  head  on  Cromwell's  head. 


32  HELEN  POTTER'S 

( — )  0And  sleep  in  dull,  j  cold  |  marble  ||  °where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  |  must  0be  °hearS  ||  0say  |  (\)  °I  taught  thee.  | 
0iSay  (22)  °~Wblsey —   |  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory,  (ia) 
( — )  And  sounded  all  the  depths  |  0and  °shoais  Oof  °hoiior — 
Found  (\)°thee  a  way,  |  Oout  of  °his  0wfeck,  (\)  °to  rise  in  ; 
A  sure  (/  )0and  safe  one,  |  Othough  thy  master  jj  missed  it. 
Mark  but  °my  0fall,  |  and  that  |  that  (\)  ° ruined  me.  [rises] 
°Cromwell,  I  charge  thee  |  fling  away  |  ambition;  (24) 
(/)  By  that  sin  |  fell  the  °angels;  how  can  °man,  0then,  | 
The  °image  Oof  his  Maker,  |  0hope  to  win  by't  ? 
(/)0Love  thyself  |  °last;  |  ( — )  cherish  those  hearts  |  that 

°hate  thee ; 
( — )  Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace,  | 
(--)  0To  silence  |  envious  |  °tongues.  (/)  Be  just  (")  0and 

( \ )  °fear  hot. 
(/)Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at,  |  be  thy  Country's, 
0Thy  Gocl's  C)  0and  °truth's;  °then,  (/)0if  thou  fall'st,  | 

(/)o0  Cromwell,  | 
0Thou  fallest  |  a  °blessed  °martyr.  |  ("7)  0Lead  me  in; 
( — )  0There  |  take  an  inventory  ||  of  all  \  I  have,  \  [short  and 

half  asp.] 
To  the  last  |  penny;  (*8)  a,tis  |  the  King's;  |  0my  °robe,  | 
And  my  |  0in°tegrity  |  to  Heaven,  |  ( aa )  is  all  | 
I   dare  |  °now  |  (\)  call    my    own.  |   (30)  °Oh,  °Croniwell. 

0Cromwell, 
(/)0Had  I  but  served  °my0God,  |  0with  (\)°half  the  zeal  | 
(/)  J-  served  |  0my  °King,  ||  °he  |  (--)  0 would  not  in  mine 

°*ge  || 
DHave  left  me  |  °naked  ||  (--)  Otomine  enemies  !  ||  (31) 

( 21 )  Handkerchief  to  the  eyes  ;  to  end  weeping. 

(22)  R.  H.  ascending. 
(" )  R.  H.  V. 

(«)  R.  H.  aloft. 
(ss)  R.  H.  V. 
(?«.)• R.H..V. 

( 2r )  Shakes  Cromwell's  hand  and  looks  anxious,  staggers,  and  speaks  aa  if 
short  of  hreath. 
(2e)  High  asp.  voice,  as  in  pain. 
(28 )  Hands  applied  to  the  chin, 
(so  j  Turns  to  go,  but  turns  back  again, 
(si )  Totters  off  with  both  arms  up  iu  intense  agony  of  mind. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  33 

Mr.  George  Vandenhoff,  actor,  son  of  the  renowned  English  trage- 
dian, was  born  in  England.  February  18,  1820  ;  made  his  tirst  appear- 
ance at  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  London,  October  14,  1839  ;  came  to 
this  country  in  1842,  and  retired  from  the  stage  November,  1856.  He 
died  at  Bennington,  Vermont,  August  10,  1884.  He  was  admitted  to 
the  bar  in  1858,  and  practised  law  in  New  York,  occasionally  appear- 
ing as  a  professional  reader.  He  was  a  man  of  culture  and  educa- 
tion, having  won  five  prize  medals  for  scholarship,  and  was  an  authority 
on  matters  of  English  pronunciation.  In  the  technique  of  elocution 
he  was  most  superior;  clear,  crisp,  intellectual;  but  he  manifested 
little  feeling  in  his  artistic  performances,  and  hence  was  not  a  sympa- 
thetic actor  or  reader. 

He  was  slightly  above  the  medium  height  and  weight,  finely  pro- 
portioned and  bore  himself  with  ease  and  dignity, 

,This  study  was  made  during  Miss  Cushman's  last  engagement  in 
New  York,  when  Mr.  Vandenhoff  played  Wolsey  to  her  Queen  Kath- 
arine, in  the  production  of  "  King  Henry  VIII." 

Costume. — See  Cardinal  Richelieu's  second  dress,  in  "A  Study 
of  Edwin  Booth,"  page  67. 

Enter  slowly,  with  measured  tread,  and  begin  the  soliloquy  with- 
out delay,  taking  no  notice  of  the  audience  unless  compelled  to  do  so. 


THE  AMERICAN  FEAST. 


BEFORE    THE    THANKSGIVING   DINNER. 

Happy,  happy  man  ! 
Tripping  gayly  'long  the  street, 
Loaded  down  with  tidbits  sweet, 
Loaded  down  with  turkey  fat, 
Delicacies  and  all  that  — 

Happy,  happy  man ! 

AFTER   THE    THANKSGIVING    DINNER. 

Aching,  aching  man  I 
Skulking  sadly  'long  the  street, 
Loaded  down  with  tidbits  sweet, 
With  stnffed  turkey,  rich  and  fat, 
Delicacies  and  all  that  — 

Aching,  aching  man! 


34 


HELEN  POTTERS 


NYDIA,   THE  BLIND  GIRL  OF  POMPEII. 


As  adapted  from  "  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,"  and  rendered  by 
Miss  Potter  more  than  six  hundred  times. 

Akgumbnt. — Nydia  was  born  in  Thessaly,  of  good  family.  She 
afterward  became  a  slave.  Her  master,  Grlaucus,  a  young-  and 
wealthy  Athenian,  bought  her  to  save  her  from  cruel  treatment,  and 
was  the  object  of  her  grateful  adoration  ever  after.  At  this  time, 
she  was  a  prisoner  in  the  palace  of  Arbaces,  and  Glaucus,  falsely 
accused  of  murder,  was  condemned  to  meet  the  lions  in  the  arena,  in 
deadly  combat.  It  was  said,  if  a  man  was  innocent,  the  bensts  would 
not  touch  him,  but  if  guilty,  they  would  tear  him  in  pieces.  "When 
the  city  was  inundated  with  burning  lava,  Nydia,  accustomed  to 
walk  in  darkness,  was  able  to  lead  her  friends  forth  in  safety,  and  to 
reach  the  sea. 


Scene,   Pompeii.     The    Palace    of    Arbaces,    a  Wealthy   Egyptian. 
Sozia  on  Guard  and  Nydia  a  Prisoner. 


HIDE  me  not  |  (/)  kind  Sozia,  I  cannot 
endure  |  to  remain  so  long  |  Oa°lone, 
The  solitude  |  appalls  me.  Come  sit 
with  me,  I  pray,  a  little  while.  Fear 
not  that  I  should  attempt  to  (/)  0es- 
cape;  |  (\)  °place  thy  seat  before  the 
door ;  ( — )  I  will  not  stir  from  this 
spot.  [Sighing.]  °Alas,  (\)  °why  am 
I  imprisoned  here  ?  I  know  not. 
[Finding  a  high  stool  and  sitting.]  (\)What  is  the  hour? 
°Noon,  0you  say?  What  hast  thou  heard  of  the  Athe- 
nian, |  Grlaucus  ?  ||  [Listens,  then,  with  surprise,  repeats  what 
she  has  heard.]  (asp.)  °He's  charged  with  shedding 
priestly  blood !  [rises  quickly  and  drops  all  her  flowers.] 
(\)°The  gods  forbid!  0Tis  °false,  D'tis  °°false,  0I  say! 
(^  asp.)   (/)  Arbaces  |  °saw  the  deed?   «)  Arbaces,  the 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  35 ' 

Egyptian  ?    [Clasps  her  hands  in  agony.]    0Arbaces   °hates 
0the   priest;    0hates  °Glaucus  |  °too.     (/.)   °Come   Truth  | 
0and  triumph  o'er  thy  foes !     [Exit  Sozia.] 

(\)°What  shrieks  are  those  I  hear;  Oso  °ne1ir,  |  0and  yet 
so  far !  (|  asp.)  It  seems  this  way,  [feels  her  way  to  the  wall 
and  listens]  here!  ||  ah— yes!  [Calls.]  °°Who  is  it  in  dis- 
tress ?  °°Who  cries  aloud  ?  [Listens  again.]  (|  asp.)  °Cal- 
emus,  |  the  priest  ?  |  °What,  you  saw  0Ar°baces  |  °strike 
the  blow  !  0Then  °you  |  0can  prove  dear  Glaucus  °innocent. 
°But  why  are  you  here  ?  [Aside.]  0Ah,  me  !  If  free  to  speak, 
he  could  save  my  master  !  [Calls  again.]  "Listen  !  If  you 
were  free,  |  would  you  give  testimony  against  Arbaces,  | 
the  rich  and  powerful  Arbaces  ?  Would  you  the  ° truth 
proclaim?  Would  you  save  the  Athenian?  (\)Your 
priestly  word  |  °can  0save  chim.  If  I  procure  you  liberty,  | 
you  will  not  play  me  false  ?  °No,  Ono !  0I  will  not  doubt 
you ;  |  you  could  not  be  so  cruel !  °Remember,  |  Calemus,  | 
Oyou  have  (\)  ° promised  \  [Turns  and  feels  her  way  along 
quickly.] 

0How  can  I  release  the  priest ;  how  best  |  the  truth  make 
known;  how  gain  the  praetor's  ear;  [wrings  her  hands]  °how 
escape  |  (\)  this  dreary  place  ?  [Stops  to  reflect,  then  bright- 
ens up  as  she  takes  her  bracelets  off.]  °Ah,  0these  °gems 
(/)0IVe  worn  so  long,  |  0may  (\)  °clear  the  way  !  [Kisses 
them.]  °Sweet  0gems,  (~~)  I  loved  you  (\)  °more  than 
freedom  |  0till  I  loved,  ||  0and  °since  (/)  DI  love,  0I  love  ye 
°more,  ||  [presses  them  to  her  bosom]  Ofor  (\)  °ye  shall  melt 
my  bonds,  |  (/)  and  give  me  |  "freedom !  [  (--)  0I  was  not 

|  °born  a  0  slave  !  no,  |  no !  |  My  birth  |  is  equal  °his.  ||  0Why 
then  |  °freedom  (q.)  0 would  give  me  power  to  save,  |  and 
the  right  to  °lote  |  0dear  Glaucus.  [Returns  to  the  outer  door 
calling  uloud.]  °Sozia !   °°Sozia  !   (\)  °Come  hither,  guard, 

||  Othou,  (\)  °too,  art  slave.    (/)  Wouldst  thou  this  day  be 
free?     (\)  °Behold  these  jewels  on  my  neck  and  arms ;  | 
( /  )they'd  buy  thy  freedom  °thrice.  ||  0Give  me  |  ° one  hour — 


36  HELEN  POTTER'S 

I  swear  to  straight  return — [pauses]  ( — )  °you  will  not  trust 
me  ?  (\)  °Nay,  then,  |  (\)  °thou  shalt  go  j  °with  0me,  |  0keep 
me  in  °  sight  |  (/)  0and  bring  me  |  °back  0again.  °How 
could  I  ilee  from  |  °thee,  |  [in  agony]  (  \)  "against  thy  will  ? 
(~~)  0I'm  ° blind  I  [reaches  both  hands  pleadingly,  then  staggers 
back  saying]  (\)  °Thou  sayst  me  nay  ?  (/)  oIs  there  °no  \ 
Jiopei  [trembles]  (£-  asp.)  °Oh,  he  is  going  °from  0me  !  01 
shall  go  °mad!  °°mad!  ||  °°Come  back !  ocCome  back  !  °one 
(\)  moment,  |  ocone —  |  cthou  wilt  not  refuse  to  take  a  bet- 
ter Ofor  °me;  thy  master  (\)  caunot  |  0kill  thee  for  °that ! 
Take  this  tablet  to  one  1  name,  |  (\)  all  these  |  °are  0thine  ! 
(g.)  Rings,  bracelets  |  long  kept  to  buy  my  freedom;  |  °all,  | 
00all,  Gare  thine  ;  (/)  thou'rt  free  and  °rich  !  ||  QYou  °°wiUf 
( \ )  °The  gods  be  praised  !  [Kneels  on  one  knee  and  writes 
upon  a  tablet  which  she  takes  from  her  bosom  and  places  upon 
the  other  knee;  now  rises  and  holds  the  tablet  out  for  him  to 
take,  then  suddenly  and  in  terror  exclaims] : 

°Oh,  ]  °thoumay'st  |  0de°ceive  0me !  0Thou  may'st  Dpre- 
°tend  |  (--)  Oto  take  this  letter  to  ^Sallust,  |  0and  (\)  not 
fulfill  thy  charge  !  °°Place  thy  right  hand  of  faith  in  mine  ! 
[holds  out  her  hand]  (\)  °° Swear  |  «)  Gby  the  ground 
on  which  we  stand ;  by  the  "elements  |  which  can  give  life, 
|  or  (\)  °curse  life;  by  °°Orcus,  |  0the  °  "all-avenging;  by 
the  °01ympian  ""Jupiter,  |  the  °all-00seeing ;  ""swear,  |  (g.) 
that  thou  wilt  discharge  my  trust  |  and  (--)  deliver  this  | 
into  the  hands  of  Sallust*!  [Pauses.]  0Thou  "wTlt !  (\) 
°The  gods  be  thanked  !  (\)  °Dear  Glaucus  is  saved  !  Ah, 
yes,  |  °he's  0saved  !  [Pauses  and  listens  until  Sozia's  foot- 
steps can  no  longer  be  heard  ;  then  anxiety  is  lost  in  sorrow.  She 
drops  into  an  attitude  of  hopeless  grief  and  despair.]  0And  °I 
_(w)  oa°las,  °I  oam  a  °slave  °forevermore  !  (\)  No  more 
can  hope  for  "freedom  ;  no  longer  (-~-~)  look  for  life,  |  for 
love,  [weeps]  \\  °Tears,  0tears  !  ||  0Why,  °why  Oshould  eyes 
that  cannot  csee,  |  (--)  0have  power  to  °we"ep  ?  [Covers  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sobs  aloud.] 


IMPERSONATIONS.  37 

(Asp.)  Hark !  the  lion  roars  |  as  if  in  fear.  It  is  the  Am- 
phitheatre, and  the  games  are  on  !  [Clasps  her  hands.] 
°Haste,  haste,  good  Sozia,  or  we  may  prove  Otoo  °late  ! 

(Asp.)  I  hear  a  cry — list,  quick  ear  !  ||  I  hear  a  °voice — 
[listening  attitude,  yet  throwing  the  voice  off.]  ( — )  "°The  lion 
touches  not  the  victim!  The  lion  touches  not  the  victim!" 
(\)  Aye,  (/)  even  the  wild  beasts  |  Olove  0Glau°cus.  Again 
that  cry — [voice  afar]  ( — )  "  °Arbaces,  \  the  Egyptian,  \  is  the 
murderer!  ( — )  °  Glaucus  is  innocent  !  Set  him00 free !  °Set 
him  °°free  !  " 

°He's  saved,  he's  saved  !  [Falls  ;  then,  rising  on  one  knee, 
listens.]  What  sounds  of  woe  !  What  heavy  breath  in  the 
air!  Ah,  the  floor  trembles  under  my  feet !  [Stoops  and 
puts  her  hand  on  the  floor.]  ■  °No,  0'tis  °I  that  trembles  !  My 
heart  is  in  a  tumult  wild  !     My  soul  is  filled  with  terror ! 

[A  voice  from  afar.]  "The  "mountain  !  the  °  mountain!  flee 
for  your  lives !  °to  Jhe  °sea,  Oto  the  °°sea ! "  [In  affright  she 
goes  to  the  wall  and  fumbles  for  the  door.] 

(Asp.)  What  does  it  mean  ?  °Sozia,  °°Sozia !  Open  the 
gate  and  let  me  out !  Unlock  the  door  !  ah  me,  [listens]  0I 
hear  a  step — °the  bolt  withdraws — °and  I — °°Sozia — [listens] 
°alas,  (-~~)  he's  gone  !  °gone  !  Oh,  light  of  love,  |  be  °thou 
0mine  eyes  |  (--)  to  lead  me  forth!  (--)  What  thunder 
shakes  the  ground;  what  (\)  °moaning — 0 what  strange 
°noises.  (/)  The  air  is  thick  |  0and  °hot!  I  cannot  breathe  ! 
[Pulls  at  her  throat,  as  if  suffocating.] 

Alone  j  and  blind,  |  in  this  strange  place,  |  how  can  I 
hope  to  escape!  [Sudden  joy.]  Oh,  Sallust !  I  hear  (\) 
°Sallust's  voice.  The  gods  be  thanked  !  [Goes  forward  to 
meet  him.]  Oh,  de"ar  Sallust,  what  hath  befel !  Speak ! 
[Repeats  what  Sallust  tells  her.]  Vesuvius  all  ablaze,  and 
growing  dark  ?  The  sun  gone  down  at  no'on  ?  Hot  cin- 
ders fall  in  showers  ?  Alas,  the  gods  are  angry  !  0and 
°Glaucus,  (\)  °where  is  he  ?  (/)  0Canst  thou  tell  me  of 
Glaucus,   0the  0A°theniah  ?     Where?  (/)  °Near  the  arch 


38  HELEN  POTTER'S 

of  the  Forum?  Ah,  |  0then  I  can  °find  0him  !  (Asp.) 
Hark  !  a  °new  0cry  |  comes  wailing  |  from  afar — on,  on,  it 
comes,  and  oh,  how  sad !  (-  -)  It  is  the  cry  of  the  Chris- 
tians, on  their  way  to  the  temple  to  worship  !  [Intone  in  a 
disguised  voice,  at  first  softly,  then  more  and  more  distinctly  as 
the  party  approaches.'] 

[Disg.  voice,  chanting.']  "The  hour  is  come; 

The  world  must  end  ; 

Woe  |  to  the  proud  ones  j  who  defy  Him  ; 

Wo~b  |  to  the  wicked  |  who  deny  Him  ; 

Woe  |  to  the  wicked,  \  woe  !  " 

0How  can  I  hope  to  reach  his  ears  |  amidst  this  tumult. 
°Grlaucus,  °°Glaucus  !  Art  thou  in  the  temple  ?  (q.)  I  hear 
his  voice !  He  answers  back  my  call.  [Joyously.]  Ah, 
here  he  is  at  last !  [Bends  her  head  and  kisses  her  hand,  as 
if  it  were  his,  at  the  same  time  dropping  upon  one  knee.  Rises.] 
°This  way,  °°this  way  (/)  to  the  °°sea,  to  the  °°sea;  ah, 
here,  |  °take  my  hand  !  I  will  lead  thee  safely  forth !  I 
know  the  way,  trust  me,  |  trust  me !  Ah,  not  so  fast ! 
°This  way,  °to  the  O0sea  !  °to  the  °°sea.  [Exit  while  saying 
the  last  words,  one  hand  before  feeling  the  way  out;  or,  if  pre- 
ferred, the  intoning  may  be  reversed  as  if  the  parties  were  going 
away  instead  of  approaching.] 

[Disg.  voice,  intoning  or  chanting,  dim.  to  the  close.] 

°  Woe  Oto  the  proud  ones  who  defy  Him  ; 

°  Woe  ( — )  to  the  wicked  who  deny  Him  ; 

( — )  o  Woe,  |  to  the  wicked,  \  woe ! 


Costume. — A  Greek  dress  of  white  cashmere,  with  a  Greek  border, 
silk  hose  with  toes,  sole-sandals  (see  directions  on  Foot-Gear),  armlets, 
bracelets,  strings  of  pearls,  and  long  flaxen  hair.  Enter  with  an 
armful  of  flowers ;  a  tablet  and  bodkin  in  the  bosom,  ready  for 
use. 

In  a  full  set  stage,  great  additional  effect  may  be  given  by  use  of 
colored  lights  and  distant  thunder.  First,  Didl  red  light  growing 
brighter,  and  shifting;  second,  with  blue  alternating;  and,  third, 
full  red  lights  to  the  end. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  39 


THE  TEN  COMMANDMENTS  IN  WELSH  * 


Anrhydedda  dy  dad  a'th  fam ;  fel  yr  estyner  dy 

Ari-rf-deth'-a       dfi      dad       iitfa     vain ;     vel     Or    es'-tfn-fir     dil 

ddyddian  ar  y  ddaear,  yr  lion  y  niae  yr  Arglwydd 

thuth'-I-i        ar     i        thire,         fir     lion      5      mae     ur      Ar  gloo'-ith 

dy  Ddnw  yn  ei  rhoddi  i  ti.     Na  ladd.     Na 

du       thew       un     ue      ruttr'-e     e    to.       Na       lath.  Na 

wena  odineb.     Na  ladratta.     Na  ddwg  gam 

wena     o'-de-neb.       Na,     lu-dret'-tS.        Na       thwg       gam 

dystiolaeth    yn  erbyn  dy  gynnnydog. 

dlss-tl-o'-llth       un      er'pln      du       gim-nie-dog'.t 

Na  chwennych  dy  dy  gymmydog. 

Na,       shwen'-Icht       de     du        gTm-ine-dog'. 

Na  chwennych     wraig  dy  gymmydog. 

Na       shwen'-ich  rig         du       gim-me-dog'. 

Na'i  wasanaethwr,  na'i   wasanaeth-ferch, 

Na'e  was-na'-thiir,         na'e  wjis-mth'-fiir, 

na'i    ych,    na'i   asyn,  na  dim  a'r  sydd 

na'e     e-fich',    na'e      as'-in,      na     dim      a'r      teeth 

eiddo  dy  gymmydog. 

i'-tho       du        gim-me-dog'.t 


*  Tlie  alternate  lines,  in  fine  print,  are  the  pronunciation  of  the  text. 
+  g,  as  in  go. 

t  Hold  the  tin  of  the  tongue  below  the  lower  teeth  and  try  to  say  each,  and 
you  have  the  eft  of  this  word. 


40  HELEN  PO ITER'S 


THE  LORD'S  PRAYER  IN  WELSH. 


Ein  Tad,  yr   hyn    wyt,    yn    y    nefoedd,    Sancteiddiei 

Ine       Tail,      ur     boon       ooit,        un      e  ne'ferth,  Sank-ta'-thu 

dy  enw.     Deled  dy  deyrnas  gwneler  dy  ewyllys,    miges 

du    a'noo.        Del'ed     du        dire'nes  nSl'ur        du     a-wuth'-les,     me'gis 

yn  y  nef  felly  ar  y  ddaear    hefyd.     Dyro   i   ni   heddyw 

un    I     nef  veloh'-i  ar     1        ttiire  hev'Iil.        D:-ru'     e    tie       heth'you 

ein  bara   bennyddiol.     A  inaddeu  i  ni    ein    dyledion,  fel 

ine     ba'ra         ben-uth'j_5].  a       math'u       e    ne      ine      dl-le-Ue'-on,    vel 

y  maddeuwn   ninnau  i'n  dyledwyr.     Ac  nac  arwain  ni  i 

e       matft'-e-une  ntn'-i       een     ili-led'-wer.         ak     nak       ar'wan      ne   e 

brofedigaeth :     either     gwared    ni    rhag     drwg.      Canys 

pruv-ed-Ig'-eth:  l'thur         gwar'ed        ne        rag  droog.  Ken'Is 

eiddot   ti   yw   y   deyrnas,    a'r   nerth,    a'r    gogoniant,   yn 

Itli'ot       te      eii       u       dire'nus,         a'r       nerth,       a  r       go  go  ne'  ant,     fin 

oes  oesoedd. 

ois       ols'seth. 


Kote— The  pronunciation  of  these  words  was  obtained  by  the  editor  while 
on  a  visit  to  Wales. 

th  z=  th  as  in  thin.  dd  =  6th  as  in  seth  (as  a  rule), 

til  z=  th  as  in  this.  f  =  v  as  in  vine. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  41 


MICHAEL  ANGELO. 


A   STUDY   OP   THE    HON.    WM.    PARSONS,    M.  P. 


•  [Extract  from  a  lecture  before  the  ladies  of  "  Monticello  Seminary, 
Godfrey,  111.,  1884.] 


E  are  about  to  discuss  the  life  and  character 
of  the  greatest  artist  known  to  fame,  Michael 
Angelo.  Now,  |  in  order  to  be  as  0practical 
°as  Opossible,  |  we  will  first  define  art. 
Beauty  |  is  infinite.  (/)Art  is  the  infi- 
nite (\)  °in  Qthe  fixed  and  finite.  Art  is 
transformation  of  mind  into  (/)  matter ;  |  (/)  philosophy  | 
is  the  transformation  of  (/)  matter  |  (\)  into  mind. 

Now  let  me  take  you  across  the  Atlantic  |  to  see  a  little 
child  ;  the  period,  |  four  hundred  years  ago  ;  the  place,  |  the 
north  of  Italy.  This  child  |  is  playing  in  a  stone  quarry,  | 
and  watching  the  stone-cutters.  It  is  Michael  Angelo. 
He  was  afterward  sent  to  school  in  France,  but  he  would 
not  study.  He  delighted  only  |  in  drawing.  0He  (\)  °fed 
his  infant  mind  on  Dante ;  |  a  man  who  pictured,  |  in  all 
the  power  of  words,  human  woe  and  anguish,  |  misery  and 
death,  |  fiends  and  devils.  Men  shrank  from  Dante  |  in 
affright.  They  said :  "  There  goes  the  man  |  who  has  been 
to  the  (\)  regions  below  |  and  has  returned." 

Michael  Angelo  spent  his  time  |  in  the  studios  of  different 
artists.  His  father  remonstrated  |  and  punished  him,  |  but 
without  avail ;  and  so,  |  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  |  he  was 


42  HELEN  POTTER'S 

bound  to  Grillandaji  |  to  learn  to  paint.  Here  he  made 
such  rapid  progress,  |  that  even  his  master  |  became  jealous 
of  him,  |  and  took  the  first  opportunity  |  to  let  him  go. 

When  the  Medici  were  driven  from  Florence,  |  Michael 
Angelo  went  to  Bologna.    There  he  got  into  some  difficulty 

|  about  a  passport.  You  may  talk  of  your  kings  and  your 
empero~rS,  but  the  biggest  man  in  a  small  town  is  the  mayor 
or  chief  magistrate  ;  and  the  smaller  the  town,  j  the  bigg"er 
the  man.  But  our  artist  found  employment,  |  remained 
here  a  year,  and  returned  to  Florence.     About  this  period 

|  there  was  a  great  prejudice  |  in  favor  of  the  antique  ; 
and  connoisseurs  J  were  often  mistaken  in  their  judgment, 

|  purchasing  modern  for  ancient  wrorks  of  art.  There  are 
men  who  are  astonished  at  nothing  |  on  principle;  especi- 
ally if  the  thing  is  modern.  Michael  Angelo  determined 
to  teach  these  critics  J  a  lesson.  So  he  executed  a  sleeping 
Cupid  and  had  it  buried,  with  marks  of  age  upon  it  pro- 
duced by  chemicals.  It  was  discovered,  resurrected,  re- 
ceived great  praise,  and  was  actually  sold  to  Cardinal  St. 
Giorgio,  for  two  hundred  ducats. 

Da  Vinci  and  Michael  Angelo  |  were  rivals ;  and  as 
Michael  Angelo  saw  the  growing  popularity  of  his  rival,  | 
in  1492,  |  he  turned  his  eyes  and  steps  to  the  East,  |  and 
went  to  Rome.  The  other  |  turned  in  the  opposite  direction, 
"to  solo!"  (I  alone!)  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  |  by  his  various 
attainments,  |  was  placed  among  the  most  remarkable  per- 
sons |  of  his  time.  Hitherto,  Michael  Angelo  had  chiefly 
devoted  himself  to  sculpture;  and,  at  the  period  he  was  at 
Florence,  |  da  Vinci,  [  who  was  considerably  older,  |  had 
already  obtained  the  first  rank  |  as  painter.  Some  jealousy 
had  existed  between  the  two  rivals,  |  and  an  opportunity 
was  now  afforded  to  them  |  of  making  an  effort  which 
should  decide  to  whom  |  the  palm  of  superiority  |  wTas  to 
be  awarded.  Sodarini,  |  whose  admiration  for  the  genus 
of  Michael  Angelo  increased  daily,  |  determined  to  employ 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  43 

him  |  to  paint  one  side  of  the  council  hall  of  the  governor's 
palace ;  |  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  was,  |  at  the  same  time,  | 
ordered  to  execute  a  picture  |  for  the  opposite  part.  Da 
Vinci  chose  for  his  subject  |  the  victory  gained  by  Angliari 
|  over  the  celebrated  Piccinino,  |  the  General  |  of  the  Duke 
of  Milan.  The  principal  objects  in  the  foreground  |  were 
a  melee  of  cavalry,  |  and  the  taking  of  a  standard.  This 
work,  |  though  it  displayed  great  excellence,  |  and  has 
been  designated  by  an  eminent  critic  |  as  exhibiting  such 
talent  as  rarely  occurs  in  the  world,  |  was,  |  by  common 
consent,  |  admitted  to  be  surpassed  |  by  the  production  of 
his  rival.  Michael  Angelo's  subject  |  was  the  "Battle  of 
Pisa."  In  the  historical  account  of  the  battle  |  it  was 
stated  |  that  the  day  on  which  it  was  fought  |  was  particu- 
larly hot,  |  and  that  a  part  of  the  infantry  |  was  bathing 
quietly  in  the  Arno,  |  when  the  call  "  to  arms"  was  heard. 
The  enemy  was  discovered  in  full  march  |  to  attack  the 
troops  of  the  republic.  The  first  impulse  produced  by  this 
surprise,  |  was  the  moment  of  time  |  selected  by  Michael 
Angelo.  Neither  artist,  |  however,  |  executed  the  paint- 
ings. Only  the  cartoons,  |  or  original  drawings  on  paper,  | 
representing  the  composition,  |  were  prepared  by  them. 

Michael  Angelo  afterward  executed  the  picture  |  in  the 
Sistine  chapel.  Vasari  particularly  notices  the  expression 
of  an  old  soldier,  wKo^  |  to  shade  himself  from  the  sun's 
rays,  |  had  placed  a  chaplet  of  ivy  on  his  head.  He  is 
sitting  on  the  ground  |  dressing  himself;  and  the  peculiar 
excitement  and  haste  |  occasiotied  by  the  difficulty  of  pass- 
ing his  garments  over  his  wet  limbs,  |  shown  by  the  strong 
marking  of  the  muscles,  |  and  an  expression  of  impatience 
about  the  mouth,  |  is  described  as  unequalled.  All  the 
celebrated  painters  of  the  day  |  attended  to  make  studies 
from  it.  Michael  Angelo  |  repaired  to  the  Council  Hall  of 
the  governor's  palace  |  very  early  in  the  morning,  |  to  com- 
pare  these   two  pictures  alone,  |  before  the   people  were 


44  HELEN  POTTER'S 

out,  |  and  discovered  that  his  work  |  was  cut  in  piece's  and 
thrown  upon  the  floor.      "  Ah,"  said  he  "  now  I  perceive 
which  was  the  better  one."     It  is  said  the  picture  was  de- 
stroyed |  by  a  pupil  of  da  Vinci,  who  could  not  endure  | 
to  see  his  master  outdone. 

Michael  Angelo  honored  j  his  profession ;  he  was  proud 
of  it.  A  man  who  is  ashamed  of  his  profession  |  will  not 
succeed.  His  profession  honors  him  |  and  not  he  |  his  pro- 
fession. Oliver  Goldsmith"  was  ashamed  of  his  profession. 
He  was  a  doctor,  an  amateur.  "  I  only  prescribe  for  my 
friends!"  said  he.  "Well,"  said  his  friend,  "I'd  advise 
you  to  prescribe  for  your  enemies,  j  and  let  your  friencTs  j 
alone." 

Once  Michael  Angelo  set  a  fellow  at  some  work,  |  and  re- 
turning, |  was  surprised  that  it  was  not  done.  The  fellow  re- 
marked |  that  he  was  not  made  for  an  artist,  |  he  was  cut  out 
|  for  a  °loafer.  "Well,"  said  Michael  Angelo,  "  whoever  cut 
you  out  for  a  loafer  |  understood  his  business !  "  Michael 
Angelo  was  painting  in  his  studio  j  when  there  entered  a 
prince,  |  and  he  said  to  Michael  Angelo  :  "  Come  to  the  win- 
dow and  look  out ;  isn't  that  a  beautiful  animal  ?  That's  my 
horse."  "  Yes,"  said  the  artist,  "  it  is  beautiful."  And  he 
took  his  brush  |  and  painted  a  portrait  of  the  horse.  He 
gave  it  the  very  fire,  |  the  very  spirit  |  of  the  noble  animal. 
The  prince  was  pleased.  "  What  am  I  to  pay  you  for 
this?"  he  said.  "One  hundred  pieces  of  gold,"  answered 
Michael  Angelo.  "  How,"  said  the  prince,  "  one  hundred 
pieces  of  gold  ?  You  were  not  twenty  minutes  making  it." 
Michael  Angelo  looked  at  the  time  and  said,  (\)"°Just 
twenty  minutes ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  |  it  took  twenty  °years 
of  labor,  |  of  anguish,  |  of  poverty,  |  (/)to  be  able  Oto  (\) 
°do  that  in  twenty  minutes." 

He  distinguished  himself  |  as  a  sculptor  and  a  painter,  | 
and  the  pope  said  to  him  :  "  Picture  and  statue  may  pass 
away.     (>-^)  °Build  here  in  Rome  |  a  colossal  statue^   |  a 


IMPERSONATIONS.  45 

great  cathedral."  He  pauses.  He  is  asked  to  be  |  an 
°  architect.  He  is  a  great  artist ;  what  if  he  should  try  and 
fail  ?  But  he  is  finally  persuaded  |  to  attempt  |  the  stu- 
pendous task,  ||  and  the  result  |  is  °St.  Peter's  |  0at  Rome. 
He  studied  the  architecture  |  of  Egypt.  It  was  massive. 
He  thought  of  the  Doric  |  and  the  Ionic.     The  (\)  °Doric 

|  was  the  (/)  masculine,  |  and  the  (/)  Ionic  |  the  (\) 
feminine  |  Oorder  of  architecture.  Temples  to  (\)  Diana 
and  Venus  |  were  (/)  Ionic  ;  those  to  (/)  Jupiter  (\)  were 
Doric.  Rome  was  not  an  (/)  originator,  |  Rome  was  an  (\) 
imitator.  Architecture  is  (\)  massive  in  (/)  Egypt,  |  (\) 
graceful  in  (/)  Greece,  |  and  (/)  picturesque  (\)  in  Rome.: 
and  the  (\)  greatest  of  them  all  |  is  the  great  |  stone  |  (/) 
dome  |  (/)  of  St.  Peters,  |  (\)  in  Rome.    Here  °his  Owork 

|  is  in  contrast  to  all  these.  Here  |  he  is  brought  into 
competition  |  (\)  °with  them  all.     Here  is  the  massiveness 

|  taken  from  ( \ )  °Egypt ;  here  is  the  gra"ce  |  brought  from 
(\)  Athens;  here  is  the  picturesqueness  |  of  the  (\) 
masters  (/)  Oof  the  past;  |  and  here  is  this  old  man  |  to 
bring  °his  Owork  |  Ointo  competition  |  with  °all  |  0these. 
To  do  a  great  work  |  requires  the  greatest  earnestness,  j 
the  greatest  love,  |  the  ( \ )  greatest  enthusiasm ;  ||  °that's 
the  word,  |  "  enthusidmi"  that  you  see  in  Dante;  that's  the 
word,  |  the  "greatest  enthusiasm"  |  that  you  see  in  (\) 
°Shakespeare,  and  ( \ )  °Beethoven. 

He  remained  |  to  the  end  of  his  life  |  a  gruff  |  old  bach- 
elor. There  were  two  or  three  grand  women  at  that  time. 
There  was  Isabella  of  Spain  ;  |  and  Vittoria  Colonna,  | 
the  most  beautiful  woman  |  in  the  world.  Raphael  said 
his  brush  |  could  not  paint  her.  The  poet  said  |  he  could 
not  |  ( \ )  °praise  her.  She  had  the  offer  of  marriage  |  from 
three  kings.  She  refused  four  crowns.  Vittoria  Colonna  | 
was  a  widow ;  ]|  and  with  a  mind  of  rare  culture,  |  fully 
appreciating  the  greatness  of  art,  |  she  |  and  Michael 
Angelo  |  became  friends ;  °platohic  friends,  of  course.    Bui 


46  HELEN  POTTER'S 

when  a  man  |  writes  odes  to  a  fair  lady,  |  and  vainly  essays 
|  to  produce  her  portrait,  |  and  seeks  her  society  |  above 
all  others,  |  you  may  be  pretty  certain  it's  all  °over  0with 
(/)platonic  |  (\)  affection.  Go  to  Italy;  there  you  will 
see  his  staff  leaning  against  the  wall ;  there  is  his  pallette, 
with  the  colors  still  upon  it ;  there  is  his  last  work,  |  the 
unfinished  picture  of  a  lady  —  ||  Vittoria  |  Colonna. 

Taine  says  :  "  Michael  Angelo  is  one  of  the  four  Immor- 
tals of  art  and  literature ;  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Beethoven, 
Michael  Angelo."  Vittoria  Colonna  "  retired  to  weep,  |  (\) 
to  pray,  |  (\)  to  study,  j  (\)  to  write,  ||  to  stretch  out  her 
(/)  hands  |  (-  -)  0with  benefits  |  to  her  kind." 

Michael  Angelo  said:  "  I  have  a  wife,  |  who  is  too  much 
for  me  |  already ;  |  one  who  unceasingly  |  (\ )  persecutes 
me.     She  is  my  art,  jl  and  my  works  |  are  my  children." 


The  Hon.  William  Parsons,  of  Dublin,  Ireland,  an  unequalled  bio- 
graphical lecturer,  came  to  the  American  lyceum  platform  about  1870, 
and  has  continued,  for  more  than  a  half  score  of  years,  to  visit  us 
annually,  and  with  increasing-  popularity.  He  has  proved  to  be  the 
most  successful  orator  Great  Britain  has  ever  sent  to  us.  Identified 
with  all  popular  reforms,  he  is  well  known  in  England  as  a  brilliant 
platform  orator,  and  ranks  in  this  country  with  our  best  Lyceum 
favorites. 

His  manner  is  quiet  and  refined,  his  voice  and  inflections  are 
English  ;  he  speaks  somewhat  rapidly,  with  his  eyes  confined,  for  the 
most  part,  upon  the  manuscript  before  him,  apparently  more  through 
diffidence  than  from  a  lack  of  familiarity  with  the  text. 

Costume. — A  gentleman's  modern  English  evening  suit  of  black,  is 
an  appropriate  costume. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  47 

CHINESE    SKETCH. 


EXTRACT   FROM    A   CHINESE   PLAT. 


Argument.  —  A  beautiful  woman  attempts  to  cross  a  dangerous  flood 
in  a  frail  boat.  When  about  to  perish,  she  prays  the  gods  to  save 
her,  and  is  told  that  if  she  will  pledge  her  unborn  babe  to  the 
Herculean  task  of  building  a  bridge  across  the  torrent,  she  shall 
reach  the  shore  in  safety.  The  pledge  is  given  and  she  is  saved. 
The  trials,  difficulties  and  perils  incident  to  the  fulfilment  of  this 
pledge  makes  the  thread  of  the  play. 


A. —  For  Reciting.  | 

Tsoi 

chung    hing       san     fo     chung     un 

Tsawl 

chiing        heng           sun      faw       chung       yun. 

Sing 

mo     ming     hi     lok     yeung     k'iu 

Seng 

mo         meng      hay      lock       ya-ung      k-haoo 

Ts'in 

ngan     m     kau 

Ts-heen 

ng-gn       m        cow. 

Kim     yam     p'o     sat     ha    fan 

Ke-fln        yum       p-ho       sat       ha        fan 

Kung     k'u     ts'im     ngan 

Ke-Qng       k-hu      ts-heem    ng-gn. 

B. — For  Singing. 
Yau     ko     chung     hing     shun     sing    ts'oi 

Yow        caw      chung         heng  sun  san        ts-hawl 

Kam     pon     piu     ming,     tak     chung     chong     tin 

Kam       pong       peu.        mang  tak         chiing  chong       yun 

To     wai     k'ii     mo     ka    pan     t'iu    hop     kwo     hoi 

Toe   wy-e   k-ie   moo   ka    pan   t-eu  hop   quaw  hawl 

Keuk     pi     mang    long    kwong     fung 

Ka  uk      pay      mang         long        kwong        fwiing 

Chuk     moon     shim 

Chalk         moon        seen. 

tThe  alternate  lines  in  smaller  type  and  diacritically  marked,  give  the 
pronunciation. 


48 


HELEN  PO TIERS 


For  Protracted  Singing. 
Shap     se     kin     a. 

Sop       see     keen     ah 


Sa    tak    ngo     a-ha'-a-ha-a 

Sa,        tee       ng-5       a — ha — a — a, — a. 


San    yawn     peau     tang     tang    tang    tang 

Sim         yawn        peow       tang-         tang         tang        tang 


-a a a a 


Pitch  indicated  by  position. 
Sop 


yawn 


tang        a 


peow   * tang     tang     tang 

a 


Costume  and  Rendition. — The  costume  is  that  of  a  Chinese  man 
of  rank,  or  mandarin  ;  a  richly  embroidered,  winged  robe  coming  to 
the  feet ;  boat-shaped,  black  satin  boots  coming  to  the  knees ;  a 
metal  crown,  with  two  long  pheasant  feathers  curving  up  and  back- 
ward from  the  front :  a  wand  of  short  peacock  feathers,  hung  to  the 
little  finger  of  the  right  hand,  and  to  be  waved  in  token  of  supremacy 
as  the  performance  proceeds.  Cover  the  head,  neck  (behind),  ears, 
and  eyebrows  with  a  fitted  chamois-skin  skull-cap.  Crayon  slanting 
eyebrows  on  the  chamois,  sew  a  circular  piece  of  black  cloth  upon  the 
crown  of  the  cap  and  fasten  the  pigtail  to  the  centre  of  the  patch ; 
leave  the  cap  open  up  the  back  of  the  neck  so  as  to  get  it  on,  and 
fasten  with  a  couple  of  pins. 

Walk  with  a  wide  base  and  a  stride,  swinging  from  side  to  side  like 
an  amateur  heavy  villain  in  a  play.  Pitch  the  voice  high  for  the 
recitation  part,  and  as  high  as  possible  for  the  singing.  Give  it  a 
very  sharp  edge,  with  a  nasal  turn  to  it,  and  you  have  the  persona- 
tion fairly  complete. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


49 


Directions  for  the  Accompaniment.  —  These  themes  may  be  re- 
peated ad  libitum  until  the  end  of  the  melodramatic  passages.  If 
played  upon  a  violin,  the  stopping  should  be  done  with  one  finger 
wherever  practicable  in  order  to  give  the  glissando  effect,  produced 
by  the  Chinese  violinists.  If  played  upon  the  pianoforte,  it  will  be 
much  more  effective  if  played  by  both  hands  ;  the  left  hand  playing 
the  notes  as  written,  and  the  right  hand  playing  the  notes  an  octave 
above.  It  would  be  advisable  to  transpose  to  G  flat  major  (for  the 
pianoforte)  which  may  easily  be  done  by  placing  a  flat  before  each 
note. — Edgar  S.   Kelley. 


Allegro  moderato. 


-For  Reciting. 


— F+-F 

-H-0-Y 


-zK~* 


._K _£ 


— 4- 

0- 


?--ftJ 


-— I- 


i 1 1 1- 

0 9 # 4- 

-^'*-^—0- 


F* 


&-T-— -fN— jSg-r-^— ■ N- 


4\ — l-N 


hi* 1— #-=£j-ft—  <sP^\ 


S-r-1 


-dr  ■■&■ 

B. — For  Singing. 


-<S>—*-0- 


iflZ^Zf: 


i PS^-r-j -an-r r-^— N-r*-*-2^ 

—£i—0 — | 0---J-  -0 1 1 1 1 0-1-0-0  —  0 — M-»-i 1 

a« -g— , Vf— 1^ P^-| - ^.-^h— «^»— . 

-4—0— I H lr-* — 0—0 — H 1 i"h* 0 l-H 

H—  0 — \—i — I — I 1-1— i CT-FH ^+" • 1 — H F ^ — Tl 

0—i —  h#-  j-# — 4—1 1 — i-I — i 1-  *-\-0-\ — 0-M-V& — 1 — f  4 


5-- 


50  HELEN  POTTER'S 


SCENES  FROM   "THE  TEMPEST." 


Shakespeare. 


A   STUDY   OF   FANNY   KEMBLE. 


Argument.— Prospero,  the  banished  duke  of  Milan,  and  his  daughter, 
Miranda,  were  sent  to  sea  in  a  rotten  boat,  by  his  usurping  brother, 
Antonio.  They  were  borne  to  a  desert  island,  where  Prospero 
practised  magic.  The  only  other  inhabitants  of  the  island  were 
Ariel,  a  fairy  spirit,  and  Caliban,  a  dwarf.  Prospero  raised  a 
tempest  by  magic,  to  cause  the  shipwreck  of  the  usurping  duke, 
and  his  son,  Ferdinand.  They  were  washed  ashore,  and  the  latter 
fell  in  love  with  Miranda,  and  married  her. 

Act  I.,   Scene   I.— On  a  ship  at  sea.     A  stoi-m,  with  thunder  and 
lightning.     Enter  a  Shipmaster  and  a  Boatswain. 

Master.  8  Boatswain, — 

Boats,  [oro.].  Here,  master :  |  What  cheer  ? 

Master.  8  Good  :  Speak  to  the  mariners :  fall  to  't  yafely, 
or  we  run  ourselves  aground  :  bestir,  bestir.  [Exit.] 

[Enter  Mariners.] 

Boats,  [oro.].  Heigh,  my  hearts,  cheerly,  cheerly,  my 
hearts ;  yare,  yare :  °Take  in  the  topsail :  °Tend  to  the 
master's  whistle.  Blow  |  till  thou  burst  thy  wind,  |  if  room 
enough ! 

[Enter  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Ferdinand,  Gonzalo,  and 
others.] 

Alon.  Good  boatswain,  have  care.  Where's  the  master  ? 
Play  the  men. 

Boats,  [oro.].  I  pray  now  |  keep  below. 

Ant.  Where  is  the  master,  boatswain  ? 

Boats.  (\)  [oro.].  °Do  you  not  |  hear  him  ?  ||  You  mar  our 
labor,  ugh !  [vexed]  Keep  your  cabins :  |  You  do  assist  the 
storm. 

Qon.  [thin].  °Nay  Ogood,  °be  0pa°tient. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  51 

Boats,  [oro.].  When  the  °sea  is.  Hence  !  What  care  these 
°roar0ers  |  for  the  name  of  king  ?  (tut,  tut)  To  cabin  : 
°°silence ;  Otrouble  us  not. 

Oon.  [thin].  °Good;  0yet  remember  whom  thou  hast 
aboard. 

Boats,  [oro.].  None  |  that  I  more  love  than  0my°self.  You 
are  a  Counsellor ;  |  if  you  can  command  these  elements  to 
silence,  |  and  work  the  peace  of  the  present,  we  will  not 
hand  a  rope  more  ;  use  your  0au°thorityT  ( / )  If  you  can- 
not, |  give  thanks  you  have  lived  so  long,  and  make  yourself 
ready  in  your  cabin  |  for  the  mischance  of  the  hour,  if  it 
so  hap.  °°Cheerly,  good  hearts.  (/)  Out  of  our  |  °way,  | 
0I  say.  [Exit.] 

Oon.  [thin].  0I  have  great  (/)  comfort  from  this  fellow :  j 
methinks  he  hath  no  °drowning  mark  upon  him ;  his  com- 
plexion |  is  perfect  °gallows.  Stand  fast,  |  good  fate,  to 
°his  hanging  :  |  make  the  rope  of  his  destiny  |  our  °cable,  | 
for  our  own  doth  little  advantage.  (— -)  If  °he  be  not  born 
to  be  hanged  |  °our  0case  |  is  (\)  °miserable.  [Exeunt.] 
[Re-enter  Boatswain.] 

Boats,  [oro.].  °°Down  with  the  topmast ;  yare,  °lower. 
lower ;  bring  her  to  try  with  main-course.  [Make  cries  like 
a  mingling  of  voices  within,  oh-oo-ah-oo.]  A  plague  upon  this 
howling !  they  are  louder  than  the  weather  |  or  our  office. 

[Re-enter  Sebastian,  Antonio,  and  Gonzalo.] 
Yet  again  ?  |  what  do  you  °here  ?     Shall  we  give  Ver  0and 
°drown  ?     Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

Seb.  A  plague  o'  your  throat !  |  you  bawling,  blasphe- 
mous, incharitable  dog ! 

Boats,  [oro.].  0Work  °you,  0then. 

Ant.  Hang,  cur,  hang !  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned 
than  thou  art. 

Oon.  [thin].  I'll  warrant  him  for  drowning;  though  the 
ship  were  no  stronger  than  a  nut-shell. 


52  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Boats,   [oro.].   "Lay  her   a-nold,   °°a-hold:    set   her   two 
courses;  off  to  sea  again,  "lay  her  off,  ""lay  her  off! 
[Enter  Mariners,  wet.] 

Mar.  °A11  lost !  to  "prayers,  to  "prayers  !  °all  lost !  (°°all 
lost !  oh-ah-o-o-o  !)  [oro. J.  Mercy  on  us  !  We  split,  we  split! 
"Farewell,  my  wife  and  children!  "Farewell,  brother! 
[in  terror]   °We  split,  °we  split,  °°we  split! 

Caliban  after  the  Shipwreck. 

Act  II.,  Scene  II.— Another  part  of  the  Island.     Enter  Caliban^ ) 

with  a  burthen  of  wood.     A  noise  of  thunder  heard. 

Col.  All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make  him 
By  inch-meal  a  disease  !  ( 2 )  His  spirits  hear  me, 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse. 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me  : 
Sometime  like  apes,  that  moe  [mo]  and  chatter  oat  me, 
And  after,  °bite  0me  ;  then  like  hedgehogs,  |  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  barefoot  way,  |  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  footfall ;  sometime  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders,  who,  with  cloven  tongues, 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness :  Lo  !  now  !  lo  ! 
[Enter  Trinculo.]  ( 3 ) 
Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his ;    and  to  torment  me, 
For  bringing  wood  in  "slowly :  I'll  fall  flat ; 
Perchance,  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trin.  Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub,  Oto  bear  off  any 
weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing ;  I  hear  it  sing 
i'  the  wind ;  yond'  same  black  cloud,  yond'  huge  one,  looks 
like  a  foul  bumbard  that  would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it 
should  thunder  as  it  did  before,  I  know  not  where  to  hide 
my  head ;  yond'  same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  by  pail- 
fuls.     What  have  we  here?   A  man  or  a  nsh?   Dead  or 

(M  Cal'iban;  voice  monotonous  and  guttural. 

(  2 )  Hold  e  in  "  disease." 

(3 )  Trin'culo;  voice  very  thin  and  high;  speaks  fast. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  53 

alive  ?  [/Snuffs.]  A  fish ;  he  smells  like  a  fish ;  a  very- 
ancient  and  fish-like  smell.  [Snuffs.]  A  strange  fish  ! 
Were  I  in  England  now,  (as  once  I  was)  and  had  but  this 
fish  °painted,  not  a  holiday  fool  there  |  but  would  give  a 
piece  of  silver ;  there  |  would  this  monster  make  a  man ; 
any  strange  beast  there  |  makes  a  man ;  when  they  will 
not  give  a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay  out 
ten  |  to  see  a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a  man !  And  his 
fins  like  °arms  !  °Warm,  0o'  my  troth  !  I  do  now  let  loose 
my  opinion,  hold  it  no  longer;  this  is  no  fish,  |  but  an 
islander,  that  hath  lately  suffered  by  a  thunderbolt. 
[Thunder.]  Alas  !  the  storm  is  come  again  ;  my  best  way 
is  |  to  creep  under  his  gaberdine ;  there  is  no  other  shelter 
hereabout.  Misery  acquaints  a  man  with  °strange  0 bed- 
fellows. I  will  here  shroud,  |  till  the  dregs  of  the  storm  be 
past. 

[Enter  Stephano,^)  singing,  a  bottle  in  his  hand.] 

Ste.  I  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  ashore. 

This  is  a  very  scurvy  tune  |  to  sing  |  at  a  man's  [  funeral ;  | 
Well,  here's  my  comfort.     [Drinks  and  sings  again.] 
The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boatswain,  and  I, 
The  gunner  and  his  mate. 

This  is  a  scurvy  tune  too.    But  here's  my  comfort.  [Drinks.] 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me.     Oh  ! 

/Ste.  What's  the  matter  ?  Have  we  devils  here?  Do  you 
put  tricks  upon  's  with  savages,  and  men  of  Inde  ?  Ha ! 
I  have  not  'scaped  Odrowning  to  be  afeard  now  |  of  your 
four  |  legs ;  |  for  it  hath  been  said,  As  proper  a  man  as 
ever  went  on  four  legs,  cannot  make  him  give  "ground  ;  and 
it  shall  be  said  so  again,  while  Stephano  breathes  at  nostrils. 

Cal.  The  spirit  torments  me ;  Oh  ! 

Ste.  This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle,  with  four  legs,  who 

(■•)  Stepha'no;  voice  broken;  drunken  style;  sings  in  a  stupid, thick  sort  of  way. 


54  HELEN  POTTERS 

hath  got,  0as  I  take  it,  |  an  °ague.  |  0Where  the  devil 
should  he  learn  our  language  ?  I  will  give  him  some  relief, 
if  it  be  but  for  that.  If  I  can  re°cover  0hiin  |  and  keep  him 
tame,  |  and  get  to  Naples  with  him,  |  he's  a  present  j  for 
any  |  emperor — r-r-r  |  that  ever  trod  on  neat's-leather. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ythee ;  I'll  bring  my  wood 
home  faster. 

Ste.  He's  in  his  °fit  Onow ;  and  does  not  talk  |  after  the 
wisest.  He  shall  taste  |  of  my  bottle  :  if  he  have  never 
drunk  wine  afo"fe,  it  will  go  near  to  remove  his  fit :  if  I  can 
°recover  0him,  and  keep  him  tame,  I  will  not  take  too  much 
for  him -,  he  shall  pay  for  him  that  hath  him,  and  that  | 
°soundly. 

Cal.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt ;  thou  wilt  anon,  I 
know  it  by  thy  trembling.     Now  Prosper  |  works  upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways  ;  ( \ )  °open  your  mouth  :  here  is 
that  which  will  give  language  Oto  you,  cat ;  °open  your 
mouth ;  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  1  can  tell  you,  and 
that  soundly ;  you  cannot  tell  who's  your  friend ;  °open 
your  chops  again. 

Trin.  I  should  know  that  voice.  It  should  be — but  he  is 
drowned ;  and  these  are  devils.     0  !  defend  me  ! 

Ste.  Four  legs,  and  two  voices ;  |  a  most  delicate  mons- 
ter !  [  Snuffs.]  His  forward  voice  now  |  is  to  speak  well  of 
his  friend ;  [snuffs.]  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  °foul 
speeches,  and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my  bottle  will 
recover  him,  I  will  help  his  ague.  °Come — 0Ameh !  0I  will 
pour  some  in  thy  other  mouth. 

Trin.  0Stepha"no, — 

Ste.  0Doth  thy  other  mouth  |  call  me  ?  |  Mercy !  mercy ! 
This  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster.  I  will  °leave  him ;  I  have 
no  long  |  spoon. 

Trin.  Stephano !  if  thou  be'st  Stephano,  touch  me,  and 
speak  to  ine ;  for  I  am  °Trinculo ;  be  not  afeard, — thy 
good  friend  Trjnculo, 


IMPERSONATIONS.  55 

iSte.  If  thou  °be'st  Trinculo,  |  come  forth  ;  I'll  pull  thee 
by  the  lesser  legs ;  if  any  be  Triiiculo's  legvs,  |  these  |  are 
they.  Thou  art  very  °Trmciilo,  indeed  :  How  earnest  thou 
to  be  the  siege  of  this  moon-calf  ? 

Trin.  I  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder-stroke.  But 
art  thou  not  drowned,  Stephanb  ?  I  hope  now,  (^-)  thou  art 
not  drowned.  Is  the  storm  overblown  ?  I  hid  me  under 
the  dead  moon-calf  s  gaberdine,  for  fear  of  the  ° storm : 
And  art  thou  living,  JStephahb  ?  0  Stephano,  two  Neapoli- 
tans 'scaped ! 

Ste.  Pr'ythee,  do  not  turn  me  abo"ut ;  my  stomach  |  is  not 
constant. 

Cal.  These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That's  a  brave  god,  |  and  bears  celestial  liquor :  I  will 
°kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  thou  °'scape  ?  How  cam'st  thou  hither  ? 
swear  by  this  bottle,  (\)  |  how  thou  earnest  hither. 

Cal.  I'll  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy  true  subject; 
for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.  Here  ;  swear  then  |  how  thou  escapedst. 

Trim  °8wam  ashore,  man,  like  a  duck  ;  I  can  swim  like 
a  duck,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  kiss  the  book  :  Though  thou  canst  |  swim  like 
a  duck,  thou  art  made  |  like  a  °goose. 

Trin.  O  Stephano,  hast  any  more  of  this  ? 

Ste.  The  whole  Butt,  man ;  my  cellar  |  is  in  a  rock  by  the 
sea-side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.  How  now,  moon-calf? 
how  does  thine  ague  ? 

Cal.  Hast  thou  not  dropped  |  from  heaven  ? 

Ste.  Out  o'  the  °mo"on,  0I  do  as°sure  0thee.  I  was  the 
man-i'-the-  |  °mooh,  |  when  time  was. 

Cal.  I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  |  and  I  do  adore  thee  ;  |  my 
mistress  show'd  me  thee,  |  and  thy  dog  and  thy  bush. 

Ste.  Come,  |  (\)  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  book ;  I  will  fur- 
nish it  |  anon  |  with  |  new  contents :  swear. 


56  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Trin.  By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow  |  monster. 
(/)  I  afeared  of  him"!  |  0a  very  weak  [  monster.  The 
man-(\)  °i'-the-moon  !  |  a  most  poor,  |  credulous  |  mon- 
ster :  well  drawn,  monster,  |  in  good  sooth. 

Cal.  I'll  show  thee  |  every  fertile  inch  |  o'  the  island ;  and 
I  will  kiss  thy  foot.  |  I  pr'ythee,  |  be  my  god. 

Trin.  By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  |  and  drunken 
monster ;  j  when  his  god's  asle~ep  |  he'll  rob  his  °bottle. 

Cal.  I'll  kiss  thy  foot ;  I'll  swear  myself  |  thy  "subject. 

Ste.  Come  on  then  ;  down  |  and  swear. 

Trin.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  |  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster ;  a  most  scurvy  monster !  I  could  find  in 
my  heart  to  beat  him  — 

Cal.  I'll  show  thee  |  the  best  springs;  [  I'll  pluck  the 
berries;  |  I'll  fish  for  thee,  |  and  get  thee  |  wood  enough. 
A  plague  |  upon  the  tyrant  |  that  I  serve !  I'll  bear  him 
no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee,  thou  wondrous  man. 

Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster  ;  to  make  a  wonder  |  of 
a  poor  drunkard. 

Ste.  I  pr'ythee  now,  |  lead  the  way,  without   any  more 
talking.  |  Trinculo,  |  the  King,  |  and  all  our  company  else  | 
being  drowned,  |  we  will  j  °inherit  here. 

Cal.  °Farewell,  master;  °farewell,  00farewell.  [Sings 
drunkenly .] 

°No  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish ; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 

°Nor  scrape  trencher,  nor  wash  dish; 
°°'Ban  'Ban,  O0Ca— Caliban, 

Has  a  new  master — °°get  a  new  man. 

[Exeunt.] 


oo 


Frances  Anne  Kemblb  was  horn  in  London,  England,  November 
27,  1809.  She  made  her  debut.  October  5,  1829,  as  Juliet.  Her  last 
appearance  on  the  stage  was  in  New  York  in  June,  1834.  The  same 
year  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Pierce  Butler,  of  Philadelphia. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  57 

Some  years  ago  this  extraordinary  artist  gave  a  series  of  Shake- 
spearian readings  in  Steinway  Hall,  New  York.  It  was  the  writer's 
good  fortune  to  attend  this  course  of  very  remarkable  performances. 
Here  was  a  plain  woman,  sixty  years  of  age,  in  simple  evening  toilet 
of  rich  silk,  with  high  corsage  and  long  coat  sleeves,  no  cosmetics 
whatever,  or  make-up,  her  hair  in  a  scanty  French  twist  at  the  back, 
and  combed  smoothly  over  her  ears  in  front  (at  a  time,  too,  when 
ladies'  chignons  were  imposing  affairs  of  waterfalls  and  puffs),  who, 
without  scenery,  music,  or  assistance  of  any  kind,  held  audiences 
from  three  to  four  hours,  to  hear  her  read  entire  plays  from  Shake- 
speare, and  this,  too,  while  seated  behind  a  low  table.  Such  a  thing 
was  never  done  before,  and  will  probably  never  occur  again.  No 
one  left  the  hall,  no  one  consulted  a  watch,  no  one  yawned  ;  and  when, 
at  last,  the  door  closed  upon  her  retreating  form,  the  audience 
awakened  as  from  a  dream,  and,  with  evident  signs  of  regret,  slowly 
arose  and  moved  silently  away.  No  one  desired  to  speak  or  to  be 
spoken  to ;  such  was  the  power  of  this  most  wonderful  woman,  the 
greatest  reader  America  has  ever  known. 

After  many  years,  the  writer  can  still  hear  the  ring  of  Miranda's 
voice,  the  sustained  and  incomparable  guttural  of  Caliban,  the  terri- 
fied cry  of  the  wrecked  mariners,  and  the  rhythmical  swing  of  Ariel's 
voice,  saying. 

"  On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 
After  summer  merrily,"  etc. 

Her  rendition  of  "The  Tempest"  can  never  be  forgotten.  No 
company  of  stars,  with  scenery  and  music  complete,  can  ever  present 
to  the  soul's  eyes  such  a  panorama  of  that  great  play  as  did  this 
solitary,  inspired  reader.  As  a  girl.  Fanny  Kemble  was  petite  and 
beautiful.  Her  black  hair,  very  brilliant  eyes,  and  lithe,  graceful 
figure  attracted  the  attention  of  artists  and  playgoers  everywhere, 
and  she  became  a  great  favorite.  At  sixty  she  was  still  well  pre- 
served and  beautiful.  Her  voice,  full  and  elastic,  was  capable  of 
infinite  variety  in  quality,  expression  and  power.  A  woman  of  edu- 
cation, culture  and  positive  opinions,  she  raised  her  daughters  to  enjoy 
athletic  exercises,  and  to  a  freedom  from  conventional  training,  not 
usual  to  persons  in  their  station  of  life.  She  rejoiced  in  health  and 
power  of  body  and  mind,  and  was  proud  of  her  ability  to  vault  into 
a  saddle  without  the  aid  of  block  or  servant.  At  the  same  time,  she 
was  an  aristocrat  in  every  sense  of  the  term.  Her  managers,  even, 
were  excluded  from  her  presence,  and  reached  her  with  difficulty, 
except  by  written  messages.  In  travel,  when  sleeping-coaches  were 
unknown,  it  was  her  custom  to  order  and  pay  for  two  entire  seats  in 
the  railway  carriage  for  her  individual  use,  in  order  to  avoid  contact 
with  her  fellow-travelers. 

Costume  and  Rendition.— In  her  New  York  engagement,  referred 
to  above,  Mrs.  Kemble  Butler,  wore  a  different,  though  equally  rich, 
costume  each  evening,  and  it  is  said  selected  one  to  suit  the  play  she 
was  about  to  read.  For  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  she  wore  a 
bridal  robe  of  white,  etc.  One  of  her  costumes  was  a  lavender  moire 
antique,  with  full  skirt  and  a  sweeping  train  of  unusual  length ;  a 


58  HELEN  POTTER'S 

plain  bodice,  pointed  back  and  front;  a  high  corsage  and  long  coat 
sleeves.  A  rich  collar  and  cuffs  of  round  point  lace  ;  white  kid  gloves 
and  slippers ;  a  filmy  lace  handkerchief,  which  could  easily  have 
been  drawn  through  a  thimble,  completed  this  plain  but  elegant  and 
expensive  toilet. 

The  student  will  endeavor  to  keep  the  various  persons  in  these 
scenes  distinct,  each  one  from  all  the  others,  both  in  voice  and  action. 
To  confuse  or  let  one  quality  of  voice  merge  into  another  would  spoil 
the  dramatic  effect,  and  fail  to  please  the  bearers. 

At  Steinway  Hall,  Mrs.  Butler  entered  light,  and  bowed  very  low, 
holding  up  the  sides  of  her  ample  skirt ;  then  advancing  to  a  chair, 
which  was  behind  a  small  table  near  the  front  of  the  platform,  she 
bowed  again,  in  old  time  courtly  fashion,  slowly  and  lowly  ;  pulled 
back  the  chair  and,  still  standing,  opened  the  book  and  read  the 
name  of  the  play  and  "  Dramatis  Personam."  This  done,  she  seated 
herself,  deliberately  arranged  her  drapery,  picked  up  the  gauzy 
handkerchief  and  dropped  it  in  a  heap  on  the  table  beside  her  book, 
looked  respectfully  at  the  audience  before  her,  and  began  to  read. 
Her  action,  while  sitting  to  read,  was  necessarily  confined  to  her  arms, 
shoulders  and  facial  expression  ;  yet  it  w7as  effective  and  satisfactory. 
She  turned  right,  increasing  her  height,  and  looked  the  haughty 
monarch.  She  turned  left,  and,  sinking  in  stature  and  lifting  the 
shoulders  slightly,  appeared  the  subordinate  or  slave.  She  shouted 
in  tones  of  fear  and  despair  when  the  ship  was  wrecked  ;  she  mut- 
tered and  grumbled  in  guttural  monotone  for  the  savage  Caliban  ;  she 
spoke  in  softest,  smoothest  voice  for  Ariel  or  Miranda.  When  the 
program  was  half  done,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  stepped  out  to  the 
end  of  the  reading-table,  and  bowed  profoundly  to  the  audience. 
Then  she  proceeded  to  the  door  of  the  ante-room,  turned  about  and 
bowed  a  second  time,  as  profoundly  as  before.  At  the  expiration  of 
precisely  ten  minutes,  she  repeated  the  entire  routine  of  her  first- 
entrance,  and  at  the  close  of  the  readings,  repeated  the  exit  of  Part 
First.  

THE  CHEMIST  TO  HIS  LOVE. 


Oh,  come  where  the  Cyanides  silently  flow, 
And  the  Carburets  droop  o'er  the  Oxides  below ; 
Where  the  rays  of  Potassium  lie  white  on  the  hill, 
And  the  song  of  the  Silicate  never  is  still, 

Come,  oh,  come  !     Tumti  turn  turn ! 

Peroxide  of  Soda  and  Urani-um  ! 

While  Alcohol  is  liquid  at  30° 

And  no  chemical  change  can  affect  Manganese  ! 

While  Alkalies  flourish  and  Acids  are  free, 

My  heart  shall  be  constant,  sweet  Polly,  to  thee ! 

Yes,  to  thee  !     Fiddledum  dee  ! 

Zinc,  Borax,  and  Bismuth  and  H  0  X  C. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  59 


WOMEN  ALL  AT  SEA. 


ENCORE    PIECE. 


Wffife^/ 


HERE  is  no  subject  on  which  women  are  more 
helplessly  afloat  than  on  matters  relating  to 
marine  architecture.  Such  knowledge  don't 
stick  in  her  brain.  The  captain  who  attempted 
teaching  nauticalism  to  a  party  of  ladies  on  a' 
yacht,  not  long  since,  fared  as  follows  :  (]) 

Lady  No.  1.  °Now,  captain,  what  is  a  sloop  ? 

Captain.  A  sloop  has  but  one  mast. 

L.  [  pointing  to  a  schooner  ].  °Is  that  a  sloop  ? 

C.  No  ;  that  is  a  schooner.  A  sloop  has  but  one  mast ; 
a  schooner  has  two,  as  you  see.  Now  remember,  sloop  one 
mast ;  schooner  Tavo. 

L.  °Certainly.     How  many  masts  has  a  ship  ? 

C.  Three. 

L.  °How  many  masts  did  you  say  a  sloop  had  ? 

C.  One.     Sloop  one  mast ;  schooner  two ;  ship  three. 

L.   [pointing  to  a  sloop  ].  °Is  that  a  schooner  ? 

C.  No ;  that's  a  sloop.  Sloop  one  mast ;  schooner  two ; 
ship  three. 

L.  °Oh,  yes  ;  I  remember.  [  Pointing  to  a  ship.]  Isn't  that 
a  pretty  schooner  ? 

C.  That's  not  a  schooner.  That's  a  ship:  Don't  you  see 
it  has  three  ma!sts  ? 

(')  This  should  be  read  in  three  voices:  The  first  lady  high  and  affeeterl  ; 
the  second  lady  low  and  lisping,  taking  breath  after-every  word  or  two ;  the 
captain  orotund  and  guttural. 


GO  HELEN  POTTER'S 

L.  °0h,  yes.  Isn't  that  a  big  schooner  lying  at  the  wharf 
there  ? 

C.  Schooner  ?     Now,  how  many  masts  I  has  that  vessel  ? 

L.  °Three. 

C.  Well,  what  nas  three  masts  ? 

L.  °A  sloop. 

C.  [loud].  Sloop!  Sloop  has  one  mast,  I  tell  you; 
schooner  two ;  ship  three. 

Lady  l¥o.  2.  0Why,  Thuthan,  how  thtupid  J  you  are  !  A 
thkoonah  alwayth  hath  one  matht. 

L.  [chatty,  and  quite  oblivious  of  stupidity].  °What  is  a 
brig  ? 

C.  A  brig  has  two  masts,  and  is  rigged  like  a  ship,  with 
square  sails. 

L.  No.  2.  0Thuthan,  look  at  thith  thloop  |  coming  along. 

C.  [staccato  and  impatient].  °That's  a  schooner;  don't 
you  see  the  two  masts  ?  Sloop  one  mast ;  schooner  two 
masts ;  ship  three  masts. 

L.  °Are  those  schooners  there  with  three  masts  ? 

C.  [abrupt].  Yes. 

L.  °I  thought  you  said  a  schooner  had  but  one  mast  ? 

C.  [impatient].  Two!  two  masts!  Sloop  one  mast; 
schooner  two ;  ship  three. 

L.  °But  that  schooner  has  three  masts  ! 

C.  [louder].  Well,  it  is  a  °three-0masted  °schooner. 

L.  °Then  a  schooner  can  have  any  number  of  masts  ? 

C.  [excited].  No;  sloop  one  mast;  schooner  two,  and 
sometimes  three  masts  ;  ship  three  masts. 

L.  °I'm  sure  I  can't  make  it  out.  It's  °aw0fully  0puz- 
zling.     What  is  a  bark  ? 

C.  [unable  any  longer  to  popularize  nautical  science  falls 
back  on  technical  expression,  fast  and  loud].  Vessel  with  two 
masts  ship-rigged,  and  one  mast,  sloop-rigged  ;  square  sails 
on  fore  and  mainmast,  and  fore  and  aft  sails  on  the  mizzen. 

L.  °Mizzen  !  What  is  I  a  mizzen  ? 


IMPERSONATIONS.  61 

C.  °°Last  mast  aft. 

L.  °Aft !  What's  the  aft  ? 

C.  °The  stern,  madam. 

L.  °0h,  I'm  sure  I  can't  make  it  out.  How  many  masts 
has  a  man-o'-war  ? 

C.  °Three. 

L.  °  Well,  what's  the  difference  between  a  man-o'-war  and 
a  smack  ? 

C.  [groans,  and  is  silent].     Oh  ! 

L.  No.  2.  0What  are  thothe  thtikth  acroth  the  mathth  of 
that  thkoonah,  captain  ? 

C.  °°That's  not  a  schooner,  [teeth  closed  ]  That's  a  ship. 
Those  are  the  yards  which  hold  the  sails. 

L.  No.  2.     o0  !    I  thee,  I  thee  ! 

C.  [encouraged].  Now,  the  first  yard  on  the  foremast  is 
the  fore  yard ;  [patiently]  the  second  is  the  fore  topsail  yard ; 
the  third  is  the  fore  gallant  yard. 

L.  °What  is  that  yard  sticking  straight  up  out  of  that 
little  schooner  ? 

C.  [low,  guttural].  °  Great  Scott!  °°That's  not  a  schooner  ; 
it's  a  sloop.     What  you  call  her  yard  |  is  her  miast. 

L.  No.  2.  0Thertainly,  Thuthah.  How  thtupid  you  are  ! 
Captain,  what  are  the  namth  of  the  other  mathth  on  that 
thkoonah'th  yardth  you  were  pointing  out  to  uth  ? 

L.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  ship  sailing  along  ? 

C.  [groans  and  tears  hair],  °°Ship  !  That's  an  old  tub  of 
a  schooner,  0ma'am.  '  °°Schooner  |  two  masts;  °°ship  three; 
sloop  °one,  0I  tell  you. 

L.  °Can  a  sloop  |  have  two  masts  ? 

C.  [shouting].  No!  no!  no!  Sloop  one  mast;  schooner 
two ;  ship  three. 

L.  No.  2.  0How  many  mathth  hath  a  theip,  captain  ? 

C.  Ship  three  masts ;  schooner  two  ;  sloop  ONE. 

L.  °Yes,  I  know.  Schooner  one  |  —  no,  two  masts  ;  sloop 
two — no,  three  ;  ship  one.     There  ! 


62  HELEN  POTTER'S 


CARDINAL  RICHELIEU. 

PART  FIRST. 


From  "Richelieu." — Bulwer  Lytton. 


A   STUDY   OF  EDWIN    BOOTH. 


Argument. — Cardinal  Richelieu,  Prime  Minister  of  France,  beset  by 
intrigues  and  court  struggles  which  required  the  subtlest  inventions 
of  self-defence,  is  recorded  as  vindictive,  crafty,  and  unscrupulous ; 
but  he  was  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  France,  and  if  he  was  her 
dictator,  he  was  also  her  benefactor,  and  left  her  in  better  condition 
than  ever  before.  He  was  no  less  generous  to  merit,  than  severe 
to  crime. 


Act  II.,  Scene  II. — A  room  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace.     [Enter  as  if 
speaking  to  some  one  with  you.] 

Richelieu.  And  you   will   engage  |  to    give    the    Duke's 

dispatch  |  to  whom  I  send  ? 
Voice.  Ay,  marry  ! 
Rich,  [aside].  Hugiiet?  ||  (*)  No;  | 
0He  will  be  wanted  °elsewhere".  1 1 1  Joseph  ?  j|  °zealous,  | 
0But  too  well  known ;  ||  too  much  |  the  j  ° elder  Obrother. 
Mauprat  C)?  j|  alas  !  his  (\)  wedding-day  ! 
Franpois  (3)  ?  ||  (accel.)  the  °man  of  0men  !  Ounnoted,  °young, 
0Ambitious.  [Go  to  the  door  and  call.]  Francis  !  °Fran£ois ! 
[Speak  fast.]  (\)  °Follow  this   fair    lady.     [Speak  as  to 

another  person.] 
(q.)  0Find  him   suiting  garments,  Marion ;  |  [to  Frangois] 

°take 
My  fleetest  steed ;  °arm  thyself  to  the  teeth ; 
(Accel.)  A  packet  will  be  given  you,  with  orders,  | 

( ' )  Hew'ga. 
( 2 )  Mo'pra 
(*)  Fran'swa. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  63 

0No  matter  what !  The  instant  that  your  hand 
Closes  upon  it — °clutch  °%t,  |  (\)  like  your  honor, 
Which  (\)  °death  alone  |  can  steal,  or  ravish;  |  set 
°Spurs  to  your  steed  ;  be  °breath0less,  till  you  stand 
(\)  °  Again  before  me.     °Stay,  0sir"!    You  will  find  me 
Two  short  leagues  hence,  at  Ruelle,  |  in  my  castle. 
Young  man,  be  blithe  !  for,  |  note  me,  |  °from  the  hour 
I  grasp  that  packet,  think  your  guardian  star 
(q.)  °Rains  Ofor°tunes  Oon  you!  j  [Hold  "n"  in  "fortunes," 

and  run  down  the%scale.] 
Voice.  If  I  fail — 
Rich.  Fail — [Sweep  of  an  octave  on  "  fail,"  and  hold  the  "I ; 

voice  somewhat  guttural.] 
{/)  0In  the  lexicon  of  youth,  |  which  Fate  reserves 
( /)  For  a  bright  manhood,  there's  no  such  |  O0word  | 
0As — °°fail  !  [hold  the  "  l."J  You  will  instruct  him  °further, 

Marion. 
( — )  Follow  her  I  but  at  a  distance.     Speak  not  to  her 
Till  you  are  housed.     °Farewell,  boy !     [point  to  door  and 

shake  hand  high.]  0Never  say 
"  Fail "  0a°gain  !  ||  [Hold  the  last  "  n,"  running  down  the  scale 
an  octave,  and  change  to  a  triumphant,  low  laugh.]  0Ha, 
ha,  ha!  [without  breathing  from  " never"  till  "ha,  ha, 
ha,"  is  ended  ;  then  quickly  change  the  voice  and  proceed.] 
Voice.  (\)  °I  will  not! 

Rich.   [Rub  your  hands,  in  lieu  of  patting  the  locks  of  Fran- 
cois.] (\)  °There's   my  young  hero!   [/Stand  silent  a 
moment.] 
(-  -)   So,    they   would   seize   my  person  |  in   this   place ! 
(\)°I  cannot  guess  their  scheme.     °But  my  retinue 

Is  here  |  too  large  !  ( )  A  single  traitor  |  could 

Strike   impotent  the   fate  of  °thous0ands ;    [confidentially] 

°Jo0seph. 
Art  °sure  0of  Hu°guet  ?  °Think,  ||  we  °hang'd  |  0his  °father ! 
Voice.  You've  heaped  favors  on  the  son. 


64  HELEN  POTTER'S- 

Rich.    0  Trash !  Ofavors    °past  (q.)   0 that's  °nothing !  In  his 

hours 
(/)o0f  confidence  with  you,  |  has  he  (/-')  |  0named  |  the 

Ofavors 
To  °come  |  ( — )  0he  counts  on  ?     {Hold  the  "m"  in1*  come ; " 

running  down  the  scale.'] 
Voice.  Yes',  a  ° colonel's  0rank,  (-  -)  and  letters  of  nobility. 
Rich.  °What  |  0Hu°guet !   1 1 1   0Colonel  0and  °noblemah  ! 
(/.)    My  bashful"  Huguet !   (\)  That  can  never  b>! 

( )  We  have  him  (\)  not  the  less.     We'll  "promise  it! 

0And  see  the  °King  |  °withholds  ! 
[Monologue  can  end  here.] 

( )  You  are  right,  j  this  treason 

Assumes  a  fearful  aspect ;  but  once  crushed, 

Its  very  ashes  shall  enrich  the  soil 

Of  power,  and  ripen  such  full  sheaves  of  greatness 

( )  That  all  the  summer  of  my  fate  |  shall  seem 

°Fruit0less  |  0beside  |  the  °  autumn  !   [Pace  up  and  down.] 
[Solemnly.]  Yes,  for  °sweet  0France,  (\)  °Heaven  grant  it. 

( )  0  my  country, 

For  thee,  ||  thte\  °only —  |  ( )  Otho'  men  deem  it  not — 

°Are  toil  and  terror  |  my  familiars"!  ||  I 
(/)  Have  made  thee  ||  great  and  fair;   ||  upon  thy  brows  | 
0 Wreathed  the  old  |  Roman  |  laurel ;  ||  (/•)  at  thy  feet  | 
Bowed  "nations  |  0down.  || 

( )  In  the  olden  times  [  before  us,  |  patriots  lived 

And  died  j  for  °liberty.     Beyond 

( )  The  map  of  France,  my  heart  0can  travel  not, 

But  fills  °that  0limit  |  ( )  to  the  farthest  verge ; 

And  I  while  I  live,  I  °°Richelieu  and  France  I  are  °one. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  G5 


CARDINAL  RICHELIEU. 

PART   SECOND. 


Act  III.,  Scene  I. — Enter  slowly,  reading  a  book.  Francis  hastily 
enters  without  the  packet.  Turn  as  if  suddenly  interrupted,  and 
throw  away  the  book. 

Rich.  °Pliilosoptiy  |  Othou  liest !  ha ! 

Quick — the  dispalch  !   Power !   Empire  !  Boy,  the  °packet ! 

Voice.  Kill  me,  my  lord  ! 

Rich,  [guttural^].  They  knew  thee — they  suspected — 

They  gave  it  not !  (\)  o00ut  with  it ! 

Ha!   [trembling']  °gd  Oon !   ||    [Run  the  "n"  up  nearly   an 

octave.'] 
[Impatiently.]  (/)  Speak  not  of  me;  Dthy  (\)  ° country  0is 

in  danger  !  || 
(/)  Spare  not  thy  life  ?  (\)  Who  |  spake  of  |  life'? 
I  bade  thee  grasp  the  treasure  [  as  thine  |  °ho?ior, 
{/)  A.  jewel  worth  whole  [guttural]  °°hecatombs  |  of  lives. 

[Hold  the  "  m  "  in  "  hecatombs,"  and  run  down  half  an 

an  octave  or  more.] 
Begone  !  redeem  thine  honor  !   0Back  to  Marion,  | 
Or  Baradas,  |  or  °Orleans;  |  track  the  robber; 
(\)  "Regain  the  packet — or  crawl  |  on  to  age,  | 
( — )  °Age  and  gray  hairs  like  mine,  and  know  |  thou  hast 

lost 
That  |  which    had    made  °thee    °great,  |  and  saved   thy 

country ! 
(q.)  See  me  not  |  till  thou'st  bought  the  right  to  seek  me. 
°Away  !  nay,  |  cheer  thee  !  thou  hast  not  (/)  0failed  °yet; 
(/)  DThere's  no  such  word  |  0as  |  [guttural]  °fail  !  (1-1-1.) 

[Point  to  door,  and  turn  the  eyes  slowly  as  if  watching 

some  one  go  thence  ;  then  continue  in  soliloquy.] 


66  HELEN  POTTERS 

Rich.  The  °poor  Oyouth ! 

An  elder  |  had  asked  °life  !  0I  love  |  the  young ! 

For  as  great  men  live  not  |  in  their  own  time, 

But  the  next  race,  ( — )  so  in  the  young  |  my  soul 

Makes  °many  0Richelieus.  ||  [Walk  up  and  down  with  stately 

stride.]     He'll  win  it  yet  [halt], 
""Francois  ?  ||  0He's  °gone !  ||  O8o,  °so  !  my  °murder !  Marion's 

warning. 
This  bravo's  °threat !  0  for  the  morrow's  dawn  ! 
( — )  0I'll  set  my  spies  to  work  ;  (/)  I'll  make  all  space,  | 
(\)  °As  does  the  sun,  |  0an  °universal  eye.  || 
(--)  Huguet   shall    track  |  Joseph  |  °confess;  °ha,   ha;  || 

[choke.] 
Strange,  |  while  I  laughed  j  I  shuddered,  |  and  ev'n  now, 

[press  hands  to  left  side,  one  over  the  other] 
( — )  Thro'  the  chill  air  |  the  beating  of  my  heart,  | 
( — )  0Sounds  |  0like    a  °death-0watch  |  0by   a   sick  man's 

pillow. 
If  Huguet  |  Ocould  |  °deceive  me.  |j 
[Cough  and  exit,  seeming  feeble.] 


Edwin  Thomas  Booth,  an  American  actor,  was  born  at  Bel  Air, 
Md.,  November  13,  1833.  He  first  appeared  at  the  Boston  Museum, 
September  10,  1849,  and  the  season  of  1864-5  he  played  "Hamlet" 
in  New  York  100  nights.  Later  he  built  "  Booth's  Theatre,"  corner 
of  23d  street  and  6th  avenue,  New  York,  and  spent  a  fortune  trying 
to  establish  the  legitimate  drama.  The  laudable  enterprise  was  not 
a  financial  success,  and  was  abandoned,  to  the  regret  of  all  lovers  of 
true  art.  He  is  at  his  prime  in  artistic  work,  as  his  continued  popu- 
larity and  crowded  houses  bear  ample  testimony. 

"What  can  be  said  of  this  accomplished  and  brilliant  artist,  to  add 
to  the  universal  praise  accorded  him  1  His  photograph  is  in  every 
treasured  album ;  his  personal  appearance  and  masterful,  finished 
work  are  familiar  to  all  who  make  any  claim  to  culture  or  information 
among  the  English-speaking  people  of  the  world. 

A  student  of  histrionic  art  who  has  never  witnessed  one  of  his 
impersonations,  should  make  any  reasonable  sacrifice  to  do  so.  Go 
alone  ;  otherwise,  engage  to  speak  not  one  'word,  nor  to  take  your 
thought  one  moment  from  the  play,  during  the  entire  performance ; 


IMPERSONATIONS.  67 

look  and  listen  with  all  your  heart  and  soul,  mind  and  strength,  and 
you  will  have  had  a  lesson  which  will  abide  with  you  as  long  as  you 
live. 

His  peculiarities  are,  first,  repose;  a  repose  which,  even  in  the 
intensest  passion,  gives  the  impression  of  vast  reserve  force,  a  self- 
control  under  accumulated  provocations.  There  is  no  exaggeration 
of  attitude,  no  strain  of  voice  ;  yet  the  spectator  holds  his  breath, 
anticipating  an  explosion  which  never  comes.  The  storm  rages  dark 
and  dangerous  within,  but  never  breaks  forth  in  full  force.  Thus  the 
hearers  are  kept  in  a  state  of  thrilling  suspense.  Were  the  torrents 
let  loose,  then  the  worst  has  transpired ;  the  suspense  is  over,  and 
we  breathe  again,  as  in  a  storm,  thunders  cease,  and  we  are  not  dead. 

His  second  peculiarity  is  'pitch-transition ;  a  glide,  or  step  of  three 
to  eight  notes,  on  or  between  syllables  and  words. 

His  third  peculiarity  is  a  trailing  walk,  as  if  the  foot  was  loth  to 
leave  the  floor,  and  was  pulled  up  until,  by  reason  of  the  weight  on 
the  forward  foot,  it  was  forced  to  advance  to  restore  equilibrium. 

Fourth,  a  rich,  low  voice  and  distinct  enunciation ;  never  hoarse, 
never  disagreeable,  always  understood. 

Fifth,  a  mobile  face,  capable  of  successive  instantaneous  changes, 
although  usually  of  the  intellectual  rather  than  the  emotional  type. 

Costume.— For  Part  First. — A  black  robe,  bound  around  the  bot- 
tom and  up  the  front  with  red  ;  a  broad  red  ribbon  sash,  with  tassels, 
tied  on  the  left  side,  and  spread  wider  in  front,  like  a  child's  sash  ; 
red  buttons  about  the  size  of  a  cent,  set  an  inch  apart  down  the 
entire  front ;  a  shoulder-cape  to  match  the  robe  ;  about  the  neck  a 
rosary  ;  also  a  gold  chain,  with  a  cross  two  inches  long  attached ;  a 
seal  ring  upon  the  third  finger  of  the  right  hand  ;  a  wide  linen  col- 
lar, and  deep  cuffs  (outside  the  sleeves  to  the  elbow)  ;  black  hose  and 
red  kid  shoes,  or  red  hose  and  black  low  shoes,  with  rosettes  and 
large  bright  buckles.  Hair,  gray  and  long,  reaching  to  the  collar, 
and  slightly  turned  at  the  ends ;  gray  moustache,  imperial,  and 
heavy  eyebrows ;  a  small  black  skull  cap,  bound  with  red,  upon  the 
back  or  crown  of  the  head ;  a  cloak,  also  black,  may  or  may  not  be 
added. 

Make-up. — Red  about  the  eyes  (over  and  under  them),  also  a  red- 
dish tint  about  the  nose  and  under  lip.  Whiten  the  cheek  bones  and 
forehead  ;  shadows  in  the  hollows  of  the  cheeks,  and  lines  across  the 
forehead  with  brown  grease  paint.  The  wig  should  have  a  false 
forehead  with  the  eyebrows  attached,  and  blended  at  the  temples 
with  grease  paint ;  the  moustache  and  imperial  fastened  to  the  flesh 
by  means  of  artist's  wax,  made  for  the  purpose. 

For  Part  Second. — A  red  train  dress,  with  red  sleeves,  and  deep 
cuffs.  The  robe  bound  with  white  and  white  covered  buttons,  as  in 
first  costume.  A  white  lace  and  muslin  over  dress  ;  white  fur  cape,  to 
the  bottom  of  waist ;  a  broad  blue  ribbon  around  the  neck,  over  the 
cape  and  under  a  deep  linen  collar,  from  which  depends  a  large  cross 
of  precious  stones  ;  also  a  rosary  about  the  neck.  Lace  frills  at  the 
wrists  of  the  muslin  sleeves.    Heavy  red  cord  and  tassels  (a  little  left 


68  HELEN  POTTER'S 

of  front)  over  the  muslin  and  lace  robe.  If  a  cloak  be  added,  it 
should  be  of  red  silk,  long-  train,  lined  with  white  silk  and  bordered 
with  ermine,  or  white  fur,  ten  inches  deep  ;  a  white  fur  hood,  lined 
with  red  silk,  attached  to  the  cloak  and  hanging  down  the  back,  over 
the  fur  cape ;  red  stockings  and  red  kid  shoes,  with  large  red  velvet 
rosettes  and  bright,  large  buckles  ;  a  cardinal's  cap  of  red  may  be 
added,  but  can  be  omitted  without  doing  violence  to  the  ensemble. 

Both  scenes  can  be  given  in  the  same  costume,  giving  only  a  minute 
or  two  between  them.  Nothing  should  intervene,  unless  it  be  instru- 
mental classical  music. 


THE  BALLET  GIRL. 


With  complexion  like  the  rose 

'Mid  the  snows, 
Due  to  powder  on  her  nose, 

I  suppose, 
She  twirls  upon  her  toes 
In  abbreviated  clothes, 
And  exhibits  spangled  hose 

To  her  beaux. 

"When  cruel  time  bestows 

Adipose, 
Fairy  parts  and  all  those 

She  outgrows, 
And  murmuringly  goes 
To  the  very  hindmost  rows, 
To  pirouette  and  pose 

With  the  "  crows." 

When  life  frayed  and  faded  grows. 

Like  her  bows, 
She  in  garrets  sits  and  sews 

Furbelows 
Till  her  weary  eyelids  close 
In  the  peace  of  death's  repose, 
Is  she  reaping  what  she  sows  ? 

Heaven  knows ! 


IMPERSONATIONS.  69 


THE  LADY-KILLER. 


A    SOCIETY     FAVORITE. 


A    STUDY    OF    FREDERIC    MACCABE,    OF    LONDON. 


ISS — ah — Stunnah, — may  I  ask  the  name-u 
|  of  the  chawming  song-ii  |  you  just  gave 
us  ?  How — the — oh  yas,  yas ;  I  think- 
ah  |  I  hud  that-ii  |  in  Viennah.  Yes !  I 
suppose  you  ah  (are)  vewah  fond  of  music  ? 
[  Pause  and  listen.]  (\)  So  am  I,  so  am  I  !  Are  you  fond  of 
Ooperah  ?  °Yas — (\)  So  am  I;  its  so  full  of — ah — °senti- 
ment.  I  thought  you  were  fond  of  °op0e°ra !  [Listen.] 
Extravagantly  (/)  fond  of  it,  |  ah!  0yas,  |  0yas !  As 
Shakespeah  says,  ( — )  "  He  that  ha'.h  no  music  in  his  soul, 
is  fit  faw  " — faw — is  fit  faw — ah  ||  Weiihly,  (really)  now,  |  I 
forget  just  what  he  is  fit  faw-ah.  "He  that  hath  no  music 
in  his  soul " — ah — ah — [  Rub  the  forehead  and  try  to  think.] 
(g)  °that's  it, — °yas,  yas!  I  knew  he  was  fit  faw-ah 
something ;  and  that  weminds  me,  |  of  a  conundrum — a 
fwend  of  mine  |  got  off  the  othah  evening.  He's  a  funny 
fellah, — vewy :  and  I'm  sho-ah  |  you'd  enjoy  it  immensely. 
[Listen.]  YVill  I  tell  it  to  you  ?  o0h  °certainly — 0certainly  ; 
that  is  |  I'll  twy ;  but  of  koahs  (course)  |  I  ciin't  tell  it  |  as 
my  °fwend  tells  it,  |  you  knaw.  Indeed,  I'm  not  vewah 
good  |  at  conundrums;  I  nevah  guessed  one-ah  |  (\) 
in  my  life;  but  this  |  was  so  °vewah  (/)  funny  |  I'm  sho- 
ah,  I  can  nevah  forget  it.     It's  so  vewah  good,  I'm  sho-ah 


70  HELEN  POTTERS 

it  would-ah,  j  make  you  laugh.  [Aside]  0It's  vewy 
funny,  vewy !  0Let  me  see !  [  Thinking.']  I'm  sho-ah 
you'd  laugh — yas — yas  ! 

[Musingly.]  "Why  is  the  operah — Oof  the  0Bo°hemian 
0Gerl  |  *  no-ah  |  that's  not  the  way  it  begins.  Why — 
0why  are  my  whiskahs — yes — that's  it — that's  it ;  °why  are 
my  whiskahs  |  like  the  operah  |  of  the  Bohemian  Gerl  ? 
Eh  ?  You  give  it  up  ?  So  did  I — so  did  (iihe)  I !  [  Listen.] 
Oh,  yes— -yes;  |  I  will  tell  you.  [Roll  eyes  upward,  and  re- 
peat monotonously  to  yourself'.]  Why  is  the  ( / )  operah  |  Oof 
the  Bo — ah — no!  that's  not  it!  Why  are  my  °whis(/)0 
kahs  |  like  the  (\)  ° operah  |  of  the  Bohemian  Gerl  ?  [  Drop 
eyes  to  the  imaginary  person  near  you  and  answer  quickly.] 
Because  there  are  so  many  ehawming  (\)  'airs  in  it!  'airs 
in  it!  see!  [Laugh  and  rub  hands  together.]  I  knew  you'd 
laugh,  |  so  many  ehawming  'airs  in  it!  That's  vewy  good! 
[  Very  soberly.]  Let  me  see !  Shakespeah  didn't  write 
that  operah  ?  No !  I  thought  not,  |  I  thought  not  ?  Miss 
Stunnah,  |  allow  me  to  conduct  you  to  the  piahno  ?  Ah,  | 
thank  you,  thank  you  !  [  Exit,  holding  out  one  arm  as  if  a 
lady  was  leaning  upon  it ;  look  down  upon  her  smilingly,  and 
pat  your  arm  where  her  hand  should  be.] 


Frederic  Maccabe,  an  English  eccentric  comedian,  came  to  this 
country  some  years  ago,  and  gave  a  season  of  very  unique  andamus 
ing  monologue  entertainments,  in  Steinway  Hall,  New  York.  He 
played  the  piano,  guitar,  flute,  and  other  instruments,  and  sang  songs ; 
he  recited  dialogues,  while  dressed  for  both  characters,  alternately 
turning  the  right  side  (dressed  for  a  lady)  and  then  the  left  (dressed 
for  a  gentleman)  to  the  audience.  He  spoke  many  dialects,  and  was 
reported  to  have  taken  a  goodly  pile  of  American  money  to  England. 
Two  expert  valets  were  in  const' „rt  attendance  at  the  hall,  to  help 
him  make  his  instantaneous  transformations,  or  rapid  changes  of 
costume. 

One  particular  performance  is  vividly  recalled  ;  "  The  Wandering 
Minstrels :  First,  Romance  ;  second  Reality."  In  this,  he  first  ap- 
peared in  an  elaborate  troubadour  suit  of  lavendar  satin,  with  lace 
frills,  plumed  hat,  an  inlaid  guitar,  swung  from  his  neck  by  a  rich 
ribbon,  and  proceeded  to   serenade  an   imaginary  inamorata,   at  a 

*Hold  the  I. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  71 

canvas  window.  He  sang-  beautifully  to  a  guitar  accompaniment,  and 
cast  languishing  eyes  at  the  painted  balcony  above ;  next  he  dis- 
appeared with  true  artistic  grace,  to  re-appear  (in  forty  seconds)  a 
veritable  gutter-singer  of  the  slums ;  dirty,  ragged,  uncombed,  with 
an  ominous  red  nose,  and  hilarious  locks  of  unkempt  hair  struggling 
through  a  torn  hat-crown,  he  sang  again,  in  a  wheezy,  broken  voice, 
interspersed  with  explanations  and  advice  in  inimitable  Irish  dialect. 
This  of  itself  was  irresistible  comedy;  he  tossed  pennies  into  the  air 
and  caught  them  in  his  hat,  as  if  they  had  been  thrown  to  him  from 
the  windows  of  a  tenement  house.  These  sketches  required  unusual 
versatility  of  talent,  and  drew  large  audiences. 

He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  portraying  the  ridiculous  in  life  with- 
out a  tinge  of  vulgarity;  e.g.,  in  his  explanations,  he  convulsed  the 
audience  by  saying:  "It's  no  throuble  at  all  to  sing,  if  ye'll  only 
moind  the  top  note.  It's  the  top  note  that  fitches  yer  audience. 
Now,  I  always  moinds  that ;  and  I  fitch  the  top  note,  if  I  have  to 
fitch  him  in  paces !  "  Then  he  sang  a  line  or  two,  halted,  saying  con- 
fidentially to  the  audience  and  in  a  low  voice,  "now  moind  me  top 
note  ;"  then,  resuming  his  former  style,  looking  up  askew,  and  curb- 
ing himself,  he  broke  a  note  in  paces  sure  enough.  It  splintered  and 
flew  in  every  direction,  while  he  walked  stiffly  off,  as  if  he  had  done 
a  wonderful  bit  of  artistic  work,  and  was  proud  of  it.  The  "  Society 
Favorite  "  is  an  adaptation  from  one  of  this  eccentric  comedian's  per- 
formances. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — The  "  Society  Favorite  "  can  be  dressed 
in  the  extreme  of  modern  fashion,  or  after  the  fashion  adopted  by 
Oscar  Wilde  when  lecturing  in  this  country  upon  ^Esthetic  Culture, 
etc.;  i.  e.,  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  knee-breeches,  etc. 

Affect  the  English  style  of  speech,  many  rising  inflections,  halts  and 
"ah's."  The  quality  of  voice  is  made  with  the  vocal  organs  in 
position  as  if  about  to  yawn. 


THE  TEN   SEVENS. 


Seven  years  in  childhood's  sport  and  play 7 

Seven  years  in  school  from  day  to  day 14 

Seven  years  at  trade  or  college  life 21 

Seven  years  to  find  and  place  a  wife  , 28 

Seven  years  to  pleasure's  follies  given 35 

Seven  years  by  business  hardly  driven 42 

Seven  years  for  fame,  a  wild  goose  chase 49 

Seven  years  for  wealth,  a  bootless  race 56 

Seven  years  for  hoarding  for  your  heir 63 

Seven  years  in  weakness  spent,  and  care 70 

Then  die  and  go — you  know  not  where. 


72  HELEN  POTTER'S 


ROSALIND. 


From  "As  You  Like  It." — Shakespearb. 


A    STUDY    OF    MME.    HELENA    MODJESKA. 


Argument. —  Rosalind,  the  daughter  of  a  banished  duke,  was  re- 
tained in  her  uncle's  court  as  the  companion  of  his  daughter  Celia  ; 
but  when  her  uncle,  the  usurper,  banished  her  also,  Cnlia,  resolved 
to  be  her  companion.  For  greater  security,  Rosalind  dressed  as  a 
boy,  and  assumed  the  name  of  Ganymede  ;  while  Celia  dressed  as 
a  peasant  girl  and  assumed  the  name  of  Aliena.  The  two  girls 
wandered  forth,  and  lived  in  a  hut  in  the  forest  of  Arden.  There 
they  met  Orlando,  who  confessed  his  love  for  Rosalind,  which  re- 
sulted in  marriage. 

Act  III..   Scene  II. —  The  forest  of  Arden. 

Rosalind.  I  will  °speak  Oto  °him  |  like  a  saucy  lacquey,  | 
and   under   °that  0hab°it  |  play  the  knave  with  him.     Do 
you  hear,  forester  ? 

Orlando.  Very  well ;  what  would  you  ? 

Ros.  [Slow.]  I  pray  you,  ||  [fast]  what  is't  o'clock? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me  what  time  uday;  there's  no  clock 
in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then  there  is  no  true  °lover  in  the  Ofor°est ;  j  else 
(\)    sighing   every   minute,  j  and  groaning  every  hour,  | 
would  detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time  |  as  well  as  a  do.  k. 

Orl.  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  time  ?  Had  not  that 
been  as  propTer  ? 

Ros.  (\)  °By  no  means,  sir.  Time  travels  in  0di°vers 
°pa0ces  |  with  0di°vers  °per0so~ns.  |  I'll  tell  you  who  Time 
°ambles  0  withal,  |  who  Time  "trots  0  withal,  |  who  Time 
gallops  withal,  |  and  who  he  stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  prithee  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Ros.  [Fast.]  Marry,  |  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  niaid  | 


IMPERSONATIONS.  73 

between  the  contract  (/)  of  her  marriage  |  and  the  (\) 
day  it  is  solemnized ;  |  if  the  interim  be  but  a  se'nnight, 
Time's  pace  is  so  hard  |  [fit.]  that  it  seems  the  length  |  of 
seven  years. 

Orl.  Who  ambles  Time  withal  ?  

Ros.  [/Slow.]  With  a  priest  |  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich 
man  that  hath  not  the  goul^;   [accel.]  for  the  one  |  sleeps 
easily  because  he  cannot  study ;  the  other  lives  merrily,  | 
because  he  feels  no  pain. 

Orl.  Who  doth  he  ° gallop  witlial  ? 

Ros.  [/Slow.]  With  a  thief  \  to  the  gallows;  for  though  he 
go  as  softly  as  °foot  0can  fall,  |  he  thinks  himself  too  soon 
there. 

Orl.  Who  stays  it  still  witlial  ? 

Ros.  [Slow.]  With  °law0yers  |  [fast]  in  the  vacation. ;  for 
they  |  sleep  \  between  °term  0and  °term,  |  and  then"  |  they 
perceive  not  |  how  time  moves. 

Orl.  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

Ros.  With  this  shepherdess,  |  my  sister;  here  j  in  the 
skirts  of  the  forest,  }  like  fringe  |  upon  a  °petti0coat. 

Orl.  Are  you  a  native  of  this  pla~ce  ? 

Ros.  As  the  coney,  that  you  see  dwell  where  she  is 
kindled. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  |  than  you  could 
purchase  in  so  removed  a  dwelling. 

Ros.  [Alarmed  for  fear  of  being  discovered.]  I  have  been 
told  so  |  of  °many ;  but,  |  indeed,  |  an  old  religious  [hesitat- 
ing] °uncle  of  mine  |  taught  me  to  speak,  who  was  |  in  his 
youth  an  inland  man ;  one  that  knew  courtship  too  well,  for 
there  |  he  fell  in  love.  [More  confident.]  I  have  heard  him 
read  cmany  |  0lectures  against  0it ;  and  I  thank  God,  I  am 
not  a  woman,  to  be  touched  by  so  many  giddy  Oof  cfen0ces  | 
as  he  hath  generally  taxed  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils  |  that 
he  laid  j  to  the  charge  of  women  ? 


74  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Ros.  There  were  °none  0principal ;  they  were  all  like  one 
another,  as  half-pence  are;  each  one  fault  seeming  Mon- 
strous, till  his  fellow  fault  came  to  match  it. 

Orl.  I  prithee  recount  some  of  them. 

Ros.  [An  octave.]  °No ;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic  I 
but  on  those  that  are  sick.  |  [Mischievous.]  There  is  a  man 
haunts  the  forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  |  with  carv- 
ing °  Rosalind  Oon  their  bark's ;  |  hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns, 
and  elegies  on  brambles  ;  |  all,  forsooth,  deifying  the  name 
of  Rosalind.  If  I  could  meet/to  Ofancy-Omon°gef,  |  I 
would  give  him  some  °good  Ocouiisel,  for  he  seems  to  have 
the  Oquo°tidiah  |  of  love  upon  him". 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  loved-shaked ;  I  pray  you  ||  tell 
me  your  remedy. 

Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you ;  |  he 
taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  lo"ve ;  |  in  which  cage  of 
rushes  I  am  sure  °ybli  are  not  Oprisoner. 

Orl.   What  were  his  marks  ? 

Ros.  [Stoic.]  A  lean  cheek,  |  which  you  have  not ;  a  blua 
eye,  and  °sunken,  which  you  have  not ;  an  unquestionable 
spirit,  which  you  have  not ;  a  beard  0neg°lected,  which 
you  have  not  f  laugh]  (but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for,  simply, 
your  having  in  beard  is  a  younger  brother's  revenue) ; 
[fast]  then  your  hose  should  be  ungartered,  your  bonnet 
unbanded,  your  sleeve  unbuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and 
Everything  0 about  °you  j  demonstrating  a  careless  desola- 
tion. But  °you  are  no  such  man ;  °you  0are  rather  point- 
demise  |  (/)  in  your  accoutrements;  as  loving  Oyour°self, 
than  seeming  the  lover  of  any  °oth0er. 

Orl.  Fair  youth,  T  would  I  could  make  thee  believe  I  love. 

Ros.  [Octave.]  (\)  °Me  believe  it?  You  may  as  soon 
make  her  that  you  °love  0belie"ve  °it ;  which,  I  warrant,  she 
is  apter  to  do  |  than  ° confess  0she  do"es ;  that  is  one  of  the 
points,  |  in  the  which  women  °still  give  the  lie  |  to  their 
consciences.     But,  |  in    good    sooth,  |  are    you  |  h"(f  |  that 


IMPERSONATIONS.  75 

hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  |  wherein  |  Rosalind  \  is  so 
admired  ? 

Orl.  (\)  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  |  by  the  white  hand  of 
Rosalind,  |  /  |  am  that  he,  that  ° unfortunate  \  Jie. 

Ros.  [Laughs.]  But  0are  °you  |  so  much  in  love  |  as  your 
0rhymes  °speak  ? 

Orl.  Neither   rhyme    nor   reason    |    can   express   how  | 
much. 

Ros.  (\)  °Love  is  merely  a  0mad°ness;  |  and  (\)  I  tell 
you,  |  deserves  as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  |  as 
°mad0men  dcf;  and  the  reason  why  they  are  °not  so 
punish'd  and  cured  |  is,  |  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary  | 
that  the  whippers  |  are  in  love  too.  |  Yet  I  profess  curing 
it  |  by  ° counsel. 

Orl.  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 

Ros.  Yes,  |  one ;  ||  and  in  °this  0manner :  He  was  to 
imagine  me  \  his  love,  his  mistress ;  j  and  I  set  him  every 
day  to  °woo  0me ;  [laughs]  at  which  time  would  /,  |  being 
but  a  moonish  youth,  |  grieve,  be  effeminate,  changeable ;  I 
longing  and  liking;  proud,  fantastical,  apish;  shallow,  in- 
constant; full  of  tears,  |  full  of  smiles;  for  (\)  every  pas- 
sion |  Osome°thihg,  |  and  for  °no  Opassioii  truly  0anything, 
[fast]  as  boys  and  women  are,  Ofor  the  most  part,  cattle  of 
this  color;  ° would  now  like  him,  [  now  loathe  him;  then 
°enter0tain  him,  |  then  for°swear  him  ;  now  weep  for  hihT,  | 
then  spit  at  him;  that  I  drove  my  suitor  from  his  mad 
humor  of  "love^to  a  living  humor  |  of  madness;  which 
was,  j  to  forswear  the  full  |  stream  |  of  the  woffd,..  |  and  to 
live  in  a  nook  |  merely  monastic.  And  thus  |  I  cured  him ; 
and  this  °way  |  will  I  take  upon  me  |  to  wash  °your  0liver  | 
as  clean  |  as  a  sound  sheep's  heart,  |  that  there  shall  not  be 
one  spot  of  love  in't.     [Laughs.] 

Orl.  I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Ros.  I   would   °cure    Oyou,  [  if  you   would   but   call   me 
Rosalind,  j  and  come  every  day  to  my  cote,  |  and  woo  me. 


76  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Orl.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  /  will ;  tell  me  where 
it  is". 

Bos.  Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I'll  show  it  you ;  and,  by  the 
way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest  you  live.  Will 
you  go  ? 

Orl.  With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Eos.  [Octave.]  Nay,  |  you  must  call  me  °Rosa0lind. 
0Come,  sister,  |  will  you  go  ?  [Exeunt.] 


Madame  Helena  Modjeska,  Countess  Bozenta,  is  descended  from 
the  Polish  nobility.  She  first  appeared  upon  the  stage  in  a  small 
town  near  her  native  city,  Cracow ;  arrived  here  in  1876,  appeared 
in  San  Francisco  in  1879,  and  subsequently  made  a  tour  of  the  United 
States,  ending-  in  New  York  city,  where  she  was  cordially  received, 
praised  and  feasted.  In  May,  1881,  she  played  at  the  Court  Theatre, 
London,  where  she  received  the  commendation  of  royalty.  After- 
ward she  played  successive  engagements  in  the  United  States,  win- 
ning honor  and  applause  wherever  she  appeared.  The  season  of 
1889-90  she  appeared  in  connection  with  Edwin  Booth,  to  the  delight 
of  all  lovers  of  legitimate  drama.  Few  persons  in  public  life  have 
been  so  favored  by  fortune  as  Mme.  Modjeska  has  ;  few  command 
such  an  array  of  forces  to  create  for  themselves  fame  and  honor. 
Her  ability  and  culture,  rare  grace  and  expression,  noble  sincerity 
and  purity  of  motive  and  life  combine  to  present  an  almost  ideal 
character  in  the  profession. 

Evidently  she  regards  beauty  and  harmony  as  indispensable  ad- 
juncts of  art,  and  cherishes  both  with  equal  fervor.  Without  vanity, 
she  gives  her  person  and  its  appointments  due  consideration,  the 
same  conscientious  care  that  a  great  painter  gives  to  his  picture  upon 
the  easel,  and  with  no  more  personal  vanity  in  the  result.  It  is  a 
duty  to  art;  it  is  beauty,  harmony,  art,  but  not  the  artist.  So  when 
she  has  made  herself  as  beautiful  as  possible  she  ceases  to  think 
about  it  altogether,  and  devotes  herself  wholly  to  the  spirit  and  ex- 
pression of  the  character  she  has  assumed.  It  is  a  living,  talking 
picture.  She  is  of  medium  size  and  weight,  and  more  Greek  than 
otherwise  in  figure  and  costume,  since  she  never  compresses  the  waist, 
and  wears  flowing  draperies  whenever  there  is  the  least  excuse  for  it. 
Her  features  are  large  and,  therefore,  expressive.  The  marked  dis- 
tance between  the  large  dark  eyes,  together  with  a  generous  mouth, 
make  a  face  that  is  seen  and  felt  in  the  remotest  corners  of  an  opera 
house,  where  delicate  or  doll-features  would  be  entirely  lost. 

To  appear  after  her  manner,  one  should  be  coy  and  modest,  grace- 
ful, earnest  and  yet  clearly  heard  in  all  parts  of  the  house.  To  over- 
act, rush,  rant  or  speak  rapidly  would  spoil  everything.  She  may  be 
said  to  linger  in  action,  to  the  advantage  of  people  who  require  time 


IMPERSONATIONS.  11 

to  appreciate  the  tableaux.  In  making  an  exit  she  moves  slowly  and 
reluctantly,  as  if  she  would  rather  not  go,  but  must.  In  receiving  a 
flower  or  a  gift,  or  in  taking  anything  up  in  her  hands,  she  handles  it 
daintily,  as  if  fearful  of  harming  it.  She  never  snatches  or  clutches 
anything,  but  takes  it  with  a  touch  —  almost  a  caress.  Her  speech  is 
slow,  the  words  clean  cut  and  clear  as  diamonds.  There  is  the  trace 
of  a  foreign  accent,  however,  which  rather  adds  to  than  detracts  from 
the  charm  of  her  utterance.  It  is  mostly  due  to  the  trilled  t  which 
modern  English  has  partially  discarded.  This  sound  of  r  was  much 
enlarged  upon  and  made  important  by  the  old  English  masters, 
especially  in  dramatic  art. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — The  costume  for  Rosalind  is  a  brocade 
or  embroidered  tunic,  square  cut  at  the  neck,  and  tilled  in  with 
gathered  muslin  ;  sleeves  slashed  longitudinally  below  the  elbow,  and 
two  puffs  of  white  muslin  inserted ;  side  pocket,  waist-band  and  long 
boots  of  soft,  light-colored  leather ;  shape  to  match  the  tunic  ;  spear, 
when  planted,  reaching  several  inches  above  the  artist's  head. 

This  extract  from  "As  You  Like  It"  is  best  given  in  evening  toilet 
as  a  reading,  unless  it  be  carried  on  by  two  persons  representing 
Orlando  and  Rosalind  in  costume. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


Ten  little  fingers  toying  with  a  mine, 

Banc/ !  went  the  powder,  and  then  there  were  nine. 

Nine  little  fingers  fixing  rockets  straight, 

Zip !  a  kick  backward,  and  then  there  were  eight. 

Eight  little  fingers  pointing  up  to  heaven, 

Roman  candles  "  busted,"  and  then  there  were  seven. 

Seven  little  fingers  punk  and  powder  mix, 

Punk  was  ignited,  and  then  there  were  six. 

Six  little  fingers  for  a  "  sisser"  strive, 

One  went  with  "  sisser,"  and  then  there  were  five. 

Five  little  fingers  loading  for  a  "  roar," 

Boom !  went  the  cannon,  and  then  there  were  four. 

Four  little  fingers  with  a  pack  make  free, 

Crash!  went  the  crackers,  and  then  there  were  three. 

Three  little  fingers  found  the  fuse  burned  blue, 

Bombshell  "  too  previous,"  and  then  there  were  two. 

Two  little  fingers  having  lots  of  fun, 

Crack!  went  the  pistol,  and  then  there  was  one. 

One  little  finger  fooling  with  a  gun, 

Didn't  know  'twas  loaded,  and  then  there  was  none. 


78  HELEN  POTTER'S 


JULIET. 


From  "Romeo  and  JuLfET." — Shakkspeare. 


A    STUDY    OF    ADELAIDE    NEILSON. 


Argument. —  Juliet  is  Capulet's  daughter,  and  Romeo  is  Montague's 
son.  A  deadly  feud  has  long  existed  between  the  two  houses.  The 
young  people  meet  at  a  masquerade  ball,  given  by  the  Capulets, 
and  fail  in  love  at  first  sight.  This  results  in  a  secret  marriage. 
To  avoid  an  enforced  marriage  with  another,  Juliet  takes  a  drug 
which  will  cause  her  to  appear  dead  for  some  time.  The  Friar 
who  married  her  to  Romeo  is  to  rescue  her  from  the  tomb,  and 
assist  her  flight ;  but  Romeo,  not  acquainted  with  the  plan,  hears  of 
her  denth,  breaks  into  the  ti  ml)  and  dies  of  poison.  Juliet  awaking 
and  seeing  him  dead  at  her  side,  seizes  his  dagger  and  stabs  herself. 


Act  II.,  Scene  II. 
Juliet.   [Lean  upon  the  railing,  with  cheek  upon  hand ,'  sigh.] 
°Ah,  me ! 

°Ronieo,  0 Romeo!   ||  (\)  ° Wherefore  art  thou  J  °Rorneo? 
Deny  thy  father,  0and  re°fuse  0thy  "name; 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  °not,  |  be  but  sworn  my  °love, 
And  °Fll  no  °longer  be  |  a  °(Japulrt. 
(/)  'Tis  but  thy  name  |  that  is  my  enemy; 
(_  _)  Thou  art  0thy  cself  Othough  |  not  |  a  °Montague. 
(\)  "What's  Montague  ?     It  is  nor  hand  nor  foot, 
Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 
Belonging  to  a  man.     ( \)  0  be  some  (\)  °other  name  ! 
(•—)  "What's  in  a  0name  ?     (/)  That  which  we  call  a  rose, 

( )  By  any  j  (\)  °other  name  |  would  smell  as  sweet; 

So  (\)  °Romeo  would,  |  were  he  °not  jEbmeb  call'd,  | 

Retain  that  °dear  .^perfection  |  which  he  owes, 

0With  °out  (-  -)  that  title.     Romeo,  |  (\)  °doff  thy  name; 

And  for  thy  name  ( )  which  is  cno  0part  of  °thee,  | 

(-  -)  Take  all  j  myself. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  79 

[Romeo  ansioers  from  the  garden  belbw.     Juliet,  startled:] 
(2  asp.)  What  man  °'art  0thou,  that  tlms  bescreen'd  in  night, 
So  stumblest  on  my  counsel  ?     [Listens  and  smiles.] 
My  ears  have  yet  not  drunk  a  "hundred  words 
Of  thy  tongues  uttering,  |  yet  |  I  know  |  the  sound! 
Art  thou  not  (/)  0Romeo,  |  0and  a  °Montague?  [Pause.] 
(\)  °How  cam'st  thou  hither,  (\)  °tell  me  ?    and  |  °where- 

Ofore  ? 
The  orchard- walls  are  high  and  hard  to  climb ; 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  |  find   thee  here.     [Sigh,  look  about 

and  listen.] 
[Undertone.]    (\)  If   they   do   (/)   see   thee  |    0they   will 

°murder  thee.     [Pause.] 
I  would  not  for  the  °world  they  saw  thee  here. 

( )  By  whose  direction  |  found'st  thou  °out  0this  place  ? 

[Clasp  the  hands  and  turn  the  face  to  the  sky,  then  away  from 

Romeo,  and  proceed.] 
Voice.  By  love  ! 

Juliet.  Thou  knowest  the  mask  of  ( \ )  °night  is  on  my 
face ; 
Else  I  would  a  maiden  blush  |  bepaint  my  cheek,  | 
For  that  |  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-nighl. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  |  fain,  fain  deny  | 
What  I  have  spoke.  |  (\)  °But  farewell  compliment! 
( \ )  °Dost  thou  I  ( / )  Olove  me  ?  I  know  thou  wilt  say — °Ay ; 

( )  And  I  will  take  thy  word.     Yet  if  thou  swear'st, 

Thou  may'st  prove  false ;  at  Covers'  0perjuries  | 

They  say  0Jove  °laughs.     °Oh,  |  gentle  Romeo, 

If  thou  °dost  0love,  |  Opro°nounce  it  |  (\)  °faithfully; 

Or,  I  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  °lightly  Owon  | 

I'll  frown  I  and  be  perverse,  (  and  say  thee  °nay,  | 

3o  thou  wilt  woo  ;    (/)  but,  °else,  |  (-'  -)  not  for  the  world. 

Voice.  Lady,  I  swear  —  by  yonder  blessed  moon  — 


80  HELEN  POTTERS 

Juliet.  0,  swear  not  (/)  by  the  moon,  |  the  inconstant 
moon, 
That  monthly  °change"s  |  0in  her  (/)  circled  orb, 
Lest  that  thy  °love  |  Oprove  °like0wise  |  (\)  "Variable. 

Voice.  What  shall  I  swear  by? 

Juliet.  ( \ )  °S  wear  not  at  all ; 
Or  {/)  if  thou  °wilt,  (q.)  swear  by  thy  gracious  °self,  | 
Which  is  the  god  |  of  my  (/)  idolatry,  | 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

Voice.  If  my  heart's  dear  love  — 

Juliet.  Well,  do  not  swear ;  altho'  1  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  |  to-night ; 
It  is  too  rash,  |  too  unadvised,  |  too  |  "sudden ;  | 
Too  like  the  lightning,  j  which  doth  cease  to  be"| 
Ere  one  can  say  —  It  lightens !  Sweet,  |  good-night ! 
°Good-0night,  |  Ogood-ni^ht ! 

Voice.  Wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 

Juliet.  °What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-°night  ? 

Voice.  The  exchange  of  thy  love's  vow,  |  for  mine. 

Juliet,    (p.)   0I    gave    thee    °mine  |  before    thou    didst 
re°quest  it. 

[Sigh.]  And  yet  |  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 

Voice.  Wherefore  ? 

Juliet.  But  to  be  frank,  |  and  give  it  thee  again. 

[Turn  as  if  called  from  within.] 
I  hear  some  noise  within ;   [Hastily  to  Romeo.]  (p.)  Dear 

love,  |  adieu  ! 

[Turn  to  go  and  answer.]  (/.)  0Atk2i,  good  nurse  !     [Return 

to  the  balcony  and  speak  to  Romeo  in  a  subdued,  voice.] 

(p.)  Sweet  MontagTfe,  be  true.    [Turn  away,  then  bach.] 

Stay   but   a  little,  I   will   come    ° again.     [Exit.     Re-enter 

hastily  and  leaning  over  balcony  continue.] 
(p.)   Three   words,  |  dear   Romeo  |  and    (\)    °good-night, 

indeed. 
(g.)  If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  °honor0able,  | 


IMPERSONATIONS.  81 

Thy  purpose  marriage,  |  send  me  word  to-morrow, 

( )  oBy  one  that  I'll  procure  to  come  to  thee, 

"Where,  and  what  °time,  |  thou  wilt  perform  the  rite  ; 

And  all  my  fortunes  |  at  thy  foot  I'll  lay, 

And  follow  thee  |  my  lord  (/)  throughout  the  °world. 

[As  if  called  again  from  within,  answer  while  half  turned  to 

depart.] 
Juliet.  °I  come,  anon.     [Then  to  Romeo.] 
(g.  p.)  But  if  thou  mean'st  not  well,  | 

( )  I  do  beseech  thee  — 

[Called  again.]  (/.)  °Byc  and  bye,  I  come; 

[To  Romeo.]  So  °cease  0thy  °strife  |  ( )  and  leave  me  to 

my  grief.  || 
To-morrow  |  will  I  send. 

A  thousand  times  |  Ogood-Onight !  °Good-0night ! 
°Grood-°night !   [Kissing  the  hand  to  Romeo,  and  with  the  face 
still  toward  him,  reluctantly  retire.] 


Costume  and  Rendition. — Adelaide  Neilson,  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful Juliets  ever  seen  upon  any  stage,  dressed  the  character  in  white 
and  silver;  the  jacket  or  cote-hardie  cut  low  at  the  neck,  and  a  long 
drapery  or  mantle  of  white  satin  depending  from  the  shoulders, 
which  half  concealed  and  added  length  to  her  youthful  figure.  This 
seems  well  suited  to  the  character,  since  Juliet  is  reported  to  have 
been  but  fourteen  years  old  Avhen  this  scene  was  enacted.  Miss 
Neilson's  appearance  as  Juliet  was  most  delightful ;  both  from  her 
seemingly  unconscious  beauty,  and  the  charming  simplicity  of  her 
manner.  Her  voice  was  sweetand  clear  as  a  silver  bell,  and  she  spoke 
and  acted  as  if  it  were  not  only  easy,  but  a  pleasure.  There  was  no 
straining  or  posing  for  effect,  no  staginess  whatsoever. 

The  costume  of  the  14th  century  in  Italy  is  thus  described  :  "  The 
dress  of  the  ladies  of  high  degree  was  splendid.  Gold  and  silver 
glittered  on  the  garments  and  precious  stones  became  very  costly 
from  the  immense  demand  for  them.  The  most  universally  worn 
vestment  was  the  cote-hardie  fa  kind  of  waistcoat  or  jacket  buttoned 
down  in  front),  which,  like  that  of  the  men.  fitted  tight  to  the  shane. 
It  was,  however,  not  so  long,  hardly  reaching  to  the  middle.  The 
corners  were  rounded  off  in  front.  The  skirt  was  full  ami  very  long, 
trailing  on  the  ground.  The  sleeves  were  similar  to  those  worn  by 
men  (close-fitting  as  far  as  the  elbows,  and  then  hanging  down  in  long 
white  pendants),  except  that  the  tight  undersleeves  extended  down 


82  HELEN  POTTER'S 

on  the  hands.  A  large  cloak  or  mantle  of  gold  and  silver  cloth,  still 
more  ample  than  that  worn  by  the  men,  sometimes  completed  this 
very  rich  attire.  Immense  head-dresses  of  almost  every  conceivable 
shape  were  prevalent  throughout  the  century ;  but  at  one  time  (about 
the  middle  of  the  century)  we  find  the  ladies  allowing  their  hair  to 
ornament  their  heads  without  the  addition  of  cap,  bonnet  or  hood. 
It  was  then  arranged  in  one  large  plait,  on  each  side  of  the  face,  with 
flowers  or  jewels  interspersed.  Their  shoes,  like  the  men's,  were 
very  long  and  pointed." — [Henry  L.  Hinton. 

According  to  tradition,  the  events  recorded  in  Shakespeare's  play 
of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet"  took  place,  A.  D.,  1303  ;  yet  the  writer  when 
traveling  in  Italy,  in  1SS1,  was  taken  to  the  "House  of  the  Capulets," 
in  Verona,  which,  with  the  original  balcony, was  vouched  for  by  the 
guide  as  genuine. 

One  of  Miss  Neilson's  costumes  for  Juliet  was  a  robe  of  pale  blue 
satin,  embroidered  in  silver,  hanging  sleeves  lined  with  white  satin, 
and  trimmed  with  swansdown;  shoes  to  match;  a  soft,  transparent 
white  veil  bordered  with  gold  lace,  which  she  waves  to  Romeo  from 
the  balcony.  Another  costume  worn  by  her  was  a  robe  of  cream- 
white  satin,  with  long  court  train  depending  from  the  shoulders; 
a  high  pointed  lace  collarette  fitted  to  a  low  bodice  and  flesh-colored 
hose,  with  slippers  to  match  the  dress.  A  large  hat  surmounted  by 
two  long  plumes  completed  this  rich  yet  simple  toilet. 

However  agreeable  or  like  a  benediction,  words  of  love  may  fall 
upon  the.  private  ear,  yet,  exhibited  as  a  means  of  public  entertain- 
ment, they  are  often  of  doubtful  service.  All  public  expressions  of 
love  are  out  of  place,  coming  from  other  than  artistic  order  and  re- 
finement, as  suggested  by  devotion  to  cause  or  person ;  sacrifices 
made  holy  and  consecrated  by  deep  conjugal,  maternal  or  other 
respectful  forms  of  love,  are  always  acceptable  and  ennobling.  An 
actor  may  rant  and  "tear  a  passion  to  tatters"  upon  any  other  theme 
with  less  danger  of  becoming  ridiculous  ;  therefore,  unless  young  and 
fair,  ay,  beautiful,  one  should  hesitate  to  place  Juliet  upon  a  pro- 
gram for  public  recital. 

The  make-up  of  a  beautiful  girl  is  not  difficult.  If  necessary,  add 
a  trifle  to  the  length  or  the  width  of  the  eyebrows,  soften  the  com- 
plexion with  rose-tinted,  or,  if  a  brunette,  with  brown-tinted  powder, 
not  too  white  (for  that  is  not  artistic),  and  arrange  the  hair  simply,  in 
a  style  which  best  becomes  the  face.  Above  all  be  easy  and  look 
and  act  happy. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  83 


SLEEP-WALKING    SCENE. 


A  STUDY  FROM  "  MACBETH.   — SHAKESPEARE. 


Argument. — Lady  Macbeth  incites  her  husband  to  murder  King 
Duncan,  and  afterward  reveals  the  murder  while  in  a  state  of  som- 
nambulism. Her  physician  and  a  gentlewoman  watch  for  her,  as 
she  walks  and  talks  in  her  sleep,  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  cause 
of  her  malady. 

Act  V.,    Scene  I.  —  Dunsinane.     A   room  in   the   castle.      Enter   a 
doctor  of  physic,  and  a  waiting  gentlewoman. 

Doct.  [disg.  v.]  ( — )  I  have  two  nights  watched  with 
you,  |  but  can  perceive  no  "truth  |  in  your  report.  When 
was  it  |  she  last  walked  ? 

Gent.  (/.)  °Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  held,  |  I  have 
seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  |  throw  her  nightgown  upon 
her,  |  unlock  her  clo"set,  |  take  forth  a  paper,  fold  it,  write 
upon't,  read  it,  afterward  seal  it,  and  again  [  return  to 
bed  ;  yet  all  this  while  |  in  a  most  °fasfc  0sleep. 

Doct.  [disg.  v.]  ( — )  A  great  perturbation  in  nature!  to 
receive  at  once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  effects  of 
watching.  In  this  slutnbery  agitalion,  besides  her  walk- 
ing and  other  actual  perform ai fees,  what,  at  any  time,  have 
you  heard  her  say  ? 

Gent.   (\)  °That,  sir,  j  which  I  will  not  report  °  after  her. 

Doct.  [  disc/,  v.]  You  may,  to  °me ;  0and  'tis  most  nieet 
you  °should. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you.,  nor  °any  one ;  having  no  ° witness  | 
to  confirm  my  speech.  [Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a 
taper.  Stand  aside  and  ipeah  in  an  undertone  as  if  you  really 
saw  her  enter.']  °Lo  Oyou,  j  here  she  Q  comes  !  This  is  her 
very  guise  ;  and, °upoh  my  life,  j  fast  asleep.  (\)  Observe 
her  ;  stand  close. 

Doct.  [disg.  v.\  How  came  she  by  that  light? 


84  HELEN  POTTERS 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her :  she  has  light  by  her  con- 
tinually ;  'tis  her  com°mahd. 

Doct.  f  disg.  v.]  (\)  °You  see  her  °eyes  are  Oopen. 

Gent.  °Ay,  but  their  "sense  is  shut. 

Doct.  [disg.  v.\  (\)  0What  is  it  she  does  now?  °Look 
|  0how  she  rubs  her  hands. 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  °action  with  her,  |  to  seem  thus 

washing  her  hands.     I  have  known  her  °continue  0in  °this 

|  a  quarter  of  an  hour.     [Asp.]     But,  hark,  she  speaks! 

sh  !     [  Exit  with  finger  across  the  lips,  looking  back  as  you  go. 

Quickly  exchange  costumes,  and  re-enter  as  Lady  Macbeth.'] 

Lady  M.  Yet  here's  a  spot. 

Out,  damned  spot!  (\)  °out,  I  say!  One;  two: 
0Why,  then,  'tis  time  to  do't.  Hell  |  is  murky  !  °Fie,  0my 
lord,  °fie !  a  Osoldief,  |  and  afeard  ?  What  need  we  fear 
°who  knows  it,  |  when  none  |  can  call  our  power  |  to  ac- 
count ?  ( ' )  Yet  who  would  have  thought  [  the  old  man  [  to 
have  had  so  much  |  (\)  °blood  in  him  !    [  Sigh.] 

(__)  (».)  The  Thane  of  Fife  |  °had  0a  °wife ;  |  where  is 
she  °now  ?  ( 3 )  What,  |  will  these  hands  |  °ne'er  be  clean  ? 
(*)  °No  more  o'  that,  |  my  lord,  |  no  more  o'  that :  you  mar 
°all  (/)  0with  this  starting. 

(')  Here's  the  smell  |  of  the  blood  still :  all  the  perfumes 
of  Arabia  |  will  not  sweeten  |  this  little  (6)hand.  Oh! 
oh  !  oh  !  (7 )  Wash  your  hands,  |  put  on  your  nightgown  ; 
look  not  so  pale  : — I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo's  ( 8 )  buried; 
he  cannot  |  come  out  on's  0grave.(9) 

(')  Pass  the  hand  over  the  left  arm  with  open  lingers,  Miiile  speaking  the, 
next  lines. 
(*)  Stand  quite  still. 
(')  Wash  your  hands  ;  pantomime. 

(4)  Move  forward  to  right. 

(5)  Move  back  and  forth,  listlessly  rubbing  the  hands,  one  over  the  other; 
pause,  raise  the  hands  to  the  face,  start  (as  if  you  smell ed  blood),  and  begin  the 
.succeeding  text. 

(e)  Wring  the  hands  again,  and  moan  out  the  three  "oil's-"  in  one  long 
groan,  or  separately,  according  as  you  can  best  do  it. 

(T)  Step  forward,  reach  out  the  hand. 

(8)  Move  both  hands  down  as  if  smoothing  the  turf. 

(•)  Look  as  if  you  saw  an  apparition  ;  step  back  and  cover  your  eyes  with  your 
arm,  or  mantle," and  at  the  knocking,  start  forward,  and  entreatingly  call  Mac- 
beth to  come  away.    Exit  backward,  beckoning  him  to  follow. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  85 

(Asp.)  To  beH,  to  bed ;  there's  (\ )  °knocking  at  the  gate. 

Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand.     What's  done 

j  cannot  be  °un0done  ;  To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed.  [  Exit.] 


Costume  and  Rendition. — The  gentlewoman's  dress  may  be  what 
you  please,  so  it  be  suited  to  the  period  and  her  position.  A  quilted 
silk  petticoat,  under  a  loose  wrapper,  with  a  lace  scarf  or  head-dress 
over  a  wig,  and  soles  or  sandals  (see  Foot  Gear,  p.xv.)  to  keep  the  feet 
from  the  floor,  will  answer  very  well.  For  Lady  Macbeth,  a  soft 
white  bed-gown,  or  wrapper,  a  mantle  or  shawl  depending  from  the 
shoulders  to  the  floor  (or  in  train),  a  taper,  candle,  or  antique  lamp, 
with  a  wick  soaked  in  alcohol.  She  should  be  pale,  with  dark  shad- 
ows about  the  eyes,  and  flowing  hair.  The  two  ladies  should  be 
strongly  contrasted;  hence  the  former  should  be  round  and  rosy, 
with  a  wig  in  sharp  contrast  to  your  own  hair,  e.  g.,  blonde  or  white 
if  yours  be  dark,  and  vice  versa. 

In  first  scene,  enter  dressed  as  a  gentlewoman,  and  carry  on  the 
conversation  with  the  imaginary  physician.  Represent  him  by 
speaking  his  lines  in  a  low,  sonorous  voice,  and  avoid  letting  the 
audience  see  your  lips  move  ;  aid  the  ruse  by  the  use  of  a  handker- 
chief, by  turning  the  face  away,  etc. 

Above  all,  do  not  change  your  attitude  or  manner,  when  speaking 
for  him.  You  must  be  the  same  person  all  the  time,  in  outward  ap- 
pearance ;  the  other  must  be  entirely  imaginary,  not  seen  but  heard. 
This  is  important.  When  you  read  or  recite  dialogues,  you  turn  one 
way,  and  assume  one  manner  of  voice  and  action  for  one,  then  turn 
the  other  way  and  assume  another  voice  and  manner  for  the  other. 
In  impersonation  this  is  not  so.  The  one  character  must  be  pre- 
served and  sustained  through  it  all ;  the  other  only  heard  ;  and  why  1 
Because  you  are  dressed  for  the  character,  and  cannot  be  any  other 
person  while  in  that  dress. 

When  you  have  made  your  exit,  slip  off  the  dress,  wig,  and  scarf 
(you  are  already  in  the  white  robe),  put  on  the  mantle  or  shawl,  let 
the  hair  down,  whiten  the  face,  and,  with  the  light  held  low  down  in 
the  right  hand,  re-appear  as  Lady  Macbeth.  Enter  slowly,  halting 
now  and  then,  like  one  walking  in  sleep.  After  some  delay,  advance 
and  set  down  the  light ;  move  forward,  and  lightly  chaff  or  rub  the 
hands,  one  over  the  other,  in  a  semi-conscious  manner,  as  if  washing 
the  hands.    Halt,  and  intone  the  "one,"  "two,"  of  the  clock. 


86  HELEN  POTTER'S 


THE  READING-CLASS. 


BEFORE   THE   PUBLIC   SCHOOLS   WERE    GRADED. 


Teacher.  The  first  class  in  reading !  Take  your  places 
upon  the  floor.  Come,  come  !  Page  144 ;  all  ready.  Jane 
may  read. 

Jane  [slowly].  The  curfew — 

Teacher.  What  are.  you  reading  ?     Don't  know  !     "Elegy 
Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard."   When  you  begin  again, 
read  the  title.     Come  now,  hurry  up.     Oh,  you  are  so  slow ! 
Jane  [slow  and  monotonously].  Ele — gy  |  written   |   in   | 
a  |  Country  [|  Churchyard. 

Teacher.   (\)  °Gro  on,  Jane  !     You  are  so  slow. 
Jane  [very  slowly]. 

The  |  curfew  |  tolls  |  the  knell  of  |  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  |  winds  |  slowly  |  o'er  the  lea, 
The  plowman  |  homeward  plods  |  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  |  darkness  |  and  to  me. 

Teacher.  Mary  may  read. 
Mary  [very  rapidly]. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 

Teacher.  Oh,  that's  too  fast ;  you  and  Jane  should  practise 
together.     Matilda  Jane  may  read. 

Matilda  Jane  [high,  sharp,  fast  and  monotonous]. 
Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 


IMPERSONATIONS.  87 

Of  such  as  wandering  near  |  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Teacher.  Joseph  may  go  on. 

Joseph  [heavy,  'monotonous  voice]. 

Beneath  those  ragged  elms,  that  °yew-0tree's  °shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep.  [Sneezes.] 

Teacher.  Araminta  may  read. 

Araminta  [falsetto  voice,  jerky,  with  emphasis  on  the  syllables 
in  italics]. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw -built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

Teacher.  Susie  may  read.  [Susie  giggles.]     Come,  Susie, 
come  !  go  on  ! 

Susie  [lisping,  and  giggling]. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care  ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 

Or  climb  his  knees  |  the  envied  (')    (go  on,  go  on!) 
— the  envied  kiss  to  share.  (2) 

Teacher.  Peter  may  read. 

Peter  [strong  rising  inflections  numerous  ;  tongue  thrust  into 
the  che°k  to  chew  upon  as  gum]. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield  ; 

Their  furrow  oft  |  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 
Teacher.  What  have  you  got  in  your  mouth  ?  take  it  out. 
[He  takes  it  in  his  hand.] 

(  1 )  Cover  the  face  with  the  book  and  turn  half  round. 
(2  )  Laugh  and  twist  about,  and  double  up. 


88  HELEN  POTTER'S 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  a-field ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  |  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 

[Returns  it  and  chews  again.] 

Teacher.  James  Baty. 

James  Baty  [jerking  the  nose  and  face  askew;  shutting  the 
eyes  tight  and  opening  them,  and  constant  downward  inflections.} 
Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 

Their  homely  joys,  |  and  destiny  j  obscure ;  | 
Nor  Grandeur  |  hear  |  with  a  disdainful  |  smile 
The  short  |  and  simple  annals  |  of  the  poor. 

Teacher.  Diligence  may  read. 
Diligence  [nasal,  and  as  if  minus  a  palate]. 
The  boas'  of  he'ald'y  the  pom'  of  pow'r, 

An'  all  tha'  meuty,  all  tha'  we'th  e'e'  gave, 
Awai'  alike  th'  inev'bl'  hou' — 

The  pa's  o'  glo'y  lea'  bu'  to  th'  g'ave. 

Teacher.  You  should  practise  more,  Diligence.  Thomas 
Delaney.  Sick  ?  Well,  we'll  excuse  you.  Pembroke  may 
read. 

Pembroke  [commences  each  line  high  and  loud,  and  runs  down 
to  the  last  syllable  on  each  line]. 

(\)  °Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

(\)  °Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
(\)  LCan  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

(\)  °Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  |  ccold  0ear  |  uf  death? 

Teacher.  Daniel  may  read. 
Daniel  [monotonous  oral  voice  ( 3 )  ]. 

°But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage,  ||  ( ' ) 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 


( 3 )  For  oral,  begin  to  yawn,  and  keep  the  vocal  organs  in  that  position. 

(  *  )  At  "  rage  "  rub  the  shoulder  suddenly,  then  the  knee,  as  if  bitten  by  a  flea. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  89 

Teacher.  Serena  Seraphina. 
Serena  [weak,  affected  and  on  a  high  key^)]. 
Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 
Full  many  a  flower  |  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  |  on  the  desert  air. 

Teacher.  How  silly  you  are  to  put  on  such  airs.  You  can 
never  amount  to  anything  until  you  quit  it.  Hezekiah  may 
read. 

Hezekiah  [hitching,  halting,  and  snuffing']. 
Some-ah  village  (8 )  Hampden,  that-ah  with  dauntless  breast, 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood — 
Some  mute,  ( 7 )  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 

Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

Teacher.  Rodney  may  read. 

Rodney  [stammering  ( 8 )]. 

Th'  applause  of  ftsteuing  senates  to  command, 

The  treats  of  pain  aud  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  /and, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  -nation's  eyes. 

Teacher.  Very  well ;  that  will  do.  Johnny  English. 
[Johnny  sniffing.]  What's  the  matter  with  you;  what  is  it? 
°Come  (\)  °come  now,  (\)  °stop  that,  and  go  on. 

Johnny  [leaves  off  the  "A"  where  it  should,  be,  and  puts  it  on 
where  it  should  not  be,  and  breaks  down  crying  at  the  close]. 
'Ere  rests  'is  'ead  Aupon  the  lap  of  AEarth, 

h A  Youth,  to  Fortune  7?  and  to  Fame  ^unknown ; 
Fair  science  frowned  not  Aon  'is  'umble  birth, 
AAnd  Melancholy  marked  'im  for  'er  hown. 

(6 )  Curb  the  head,  turn  from  side  to  side,  and  use  "  ah  ;  "  "  ba-ah"  for  "bear,* 
"flow-ah"  for  "flower,"  "a-ah"  for  "air." 
(  *  )  Spell  half  way,  then  pronounce  the  word  ;  "^H-a-ra-p-  |  "Hampton." 
(7  )  "<,I-n-  |  in-  |  g-]-o-  |  "inglorious." 
{ 8 )  Hold  or  repeat  the  letters  in  italics. 


90  HELEN  POTTERS 

Teacher.  You  are  always  in  trouble  Johnny.     You  may 
go  to  your  seat.     Sambo  may  read. 
/Sambo  [?iegro  dialect]. 

Fur  frum  de  maddin'  crowds  ignoble  stribe, 

Dar  sober  wishes  nebber  larn  to  stray, 
'Long  de  kool  skwester'd  bale  ob  life, 
Dey  keep  de  noisliss  tenur  ob  dar  way. 

Teacher.  Hans  may  read. 
Hans  [German  dialect]. 

Tare  shatter' d  oft  j  te  yoougest  |  von  te  yare, 

Py  hants  onseen  |  bist(9)  shoo'rs  von  tiolets  foont, 
Te  ret-prest  loves  to  pilt  unt  varple  tare, 
Unt  leetle  foot-stebs  lightly  brints  te  grunt. 

Teacher.  Charles  Augustus. 

Charles  [very  loud  and  stumbling,  spelling  .out  words  now  and 
then,  and  mispronouncing  them]. 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 


Note. — This  arrangement  of  a  reading-clas*   of  the   olden   time 
originated  with  the  writer,  and  has  proved  very  amusing. 

(8  )  Loses  Ms  place,  gazes  into  the  air,  tries  to  catch  a  thistle-down,  etc. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


91 


DECLARATION  OF  RIGHTS  OF  THE  WOMEN  OF 
THE  UNITED  STATES 


AT      THE     CENTENNIAL       CELEBRATION      OF      AMERICAN       INDEPENDENCE, 
PHILADELPHIA,    JULY   4,    1876. 


A   STUDY   OF    MRS.    ELIZABETH   CABY   STANTON,    OP   THE 
NATIONAL    WOMAN'S    SUFFRAGE   ASSOCIATION. 


HILE  the  nation  is  buoyant  with  pa- 
triotism, |  and  all  hearts  are  attuned 
to  praise,  |  it  is  with  sorrow  |  we  come 
to  strike  the  °one  Odis°cordant  note,  | 
on  this  hundredth  anniversary  |  of  our 
country's  birth.  We  do  rejoice  |  in  the 
success  thus  far,  |  of  our  experiment  of 
Oself-Ogovernment.  Our  faith  is  firm  and  unwavering  |  in 
the  °broad  principles  of  human  rights,  |  proclaimed  in 
1776  |  not  only  as  abstract  °truths,  |  but  as  the  °corner 
stones  |  of  a  republic.  Yet,  we  cannot  forget,  |  even  in 
this  glad  hour,  |  that  while  all  men  |  of  every  race  |  and 
clime,  |  and  (\)  Condition  |  have  been  invested  |  with  the 
full  rights  of  citizenship,  |  under  our  hospitable  °flag.  | 
all  ° women  \  0still  suffer  |  the  degradation  |  of  (\)  "dis- 
franchisement. 

°The  history  of  our  country  |  the  past  hundred  years,  | 
has   been  a  series    of   assumptions    and    usurpations  |  of 
power  over  woman,  |  in  direct  opposition  |  to  the  principles 
of  just  government,  |  acknowledged  by  the  United  States 
as  its  foundation,  |  which  are : 


92  HELEN  POTTERS 

First.  The  natural  rights  |  of  each  individual. 

Second.  The  exact  equality  |  of  these  rights. 

Third.  That  these  rights,  |  when  not  delegated  by  the  in- 
dividual, |  are  ° retained  \  0by  the  individual. 

Fourth.  That  no  person  can  exercise  the  rights  of 
others  |  without  delegated  authority. 

Fifth.  The  non-use  of  these  rights  |  does  not  (\)  "destroy 
them. 

And  for  the  violation  [  of  these  fundamental  principles 
of  our  government,  |  we  arraign  our  rulers  |  on  this  4th  day 
of  July,  |  1876  — -  and  these  |  are  our 

ARTICLES    OF    IMPEACHMENT: 

Bills  of  attainder  have  been  passed  [  by  the  introduction 
of  the  word  "male"  |  into  all  the  State  constitutions,  j 
denying  to  woman  the  right  of  suffrage,  0and  °thereby 
making  sex  |  a  crime  —  an  exercise  of  power  clearly  forbid- 
den |  in  Article  1st,  Sections  9th  and  10th  |  of  the  United 
States  Constitution.  [ 

The  right  of  trial  by  a  jury  of  one's  peers  was  so  jealously 
guarded  |  that  States  refused  to  ratify  the  original  Consti- 
tution 0un°til  0it  was  °guar0an°teed  |  by  the  (\)  °6th 
Amendment.  And  yet  the  "women  of  this  nation  |  have 
never  been  allowed  a  jury  of  their  peers,  |  being  tried  in  all 
cases  by  inen,  |  native  and  foreign,  |  educated  and  igno- 
rant, |  virtuous  and  vicious.  And  not  only  are  women 
denied  a  jury  of  0their  "peers,  |  but  in  some  cases,  [  °jury 
°trial  |  (\)  "altogether. 

During    the    last    Presidential    campaign,  |  a    woman, 
arrested  for  voting,  |  was  denied  the  protection  of  a  jury,  | 
was  |  tried,  |  convicted  |  and  sentenced  to  a  fine  and  costs 
of  (/)  Oprose°cution,  |  by  the  (\)  ° absolute  °power  |  of  a 
judge  |  of  the  Supreme  Court  |  of  the  United  States. 

Taxation  without  representation,  the  immediate  cause  |  of 
the  rebellion  of  the  colonies  against  Great  Britain,  |  is  one  of 
the   °grievous  wrongs  |  the   "women  of  this  country  0have  . 


IMPERSONATIONS.  93 

°suffered  |  "during  the  century.  Deploring  "war,  0with  °all 
the  demoralization  |  that  follows  in  its  "train,  |  we  have 
been  taxed  |  to  support  standing  armies,  |  with  their  waste 
of  |  life  and  wealth.  (/)  0Believing  in  temperance,  |  °we 
have  been  taxed  |  to  support  the  vice,  crime  and  pauper- 
ism |  of  the  "liquor  0traffic. 

Universal  manhood  suffrage,  by  establishing  an  aristocracy 
of  "sex,  |  imposes  upon  the  women  of  this  nation  |  a  more 
"absolute  0and  "cruel  (/)  Odespotism  [  than   "monarchy,  | 
iu  |  that  woman  finds  a  political  "master  |  in  her  father,  | 
husband,  |  "brother,  [  Oson.     The  aristocracies  |  of  the  Oold 
"world  |  are    based     upon    birth,  |  wealth,  |  refinement,  [ 
0edu°cation,  |  Ono"bility,  |  brave    deeds    of   "chivalry;  |  in 
"this  nation,  |  on  sex  alone ;  exalting    brute    Oforce  |  above 
moral  power,  |  vice  above  virtue,  |  ignorance  above  0educa- 
tion,  |  and  the  "son  |  Oabove  the  "mother  |  Owho  "bore  him. 

The  judiciary  of  the  nation  has  proved  itself  |  but  the 
echo  |  of  the  party  in  power  [  by  upholding  and  enforcing 
laws  |  that  are  opposed  to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  the  0Con- 
sti"tution.  When  the  slave-power  was  (/)  Odominant,  | 
the  Supreme  Court  decided  |  that  a  black  man  |  was 
"not  (/)  0a  citizen,  |  because  he  had  not  the  ri^ht  |  to 
"vote;  |  and  when  the  Constitution  |  was  so  amended  (/) 
0as  to  make  "all  J  persons  |  (/)  ocitizens,  |  Cithe  (\)  "same 
high    tribunal  |  Qdecided  ||  that    a    °wooman,  \  "though    0a 

"citizen  |  ( )   had   (\)    "not   the   right  |  to  vote.      Such 

vasodilating  (\)  "interpretations  |  of  constictutional  "law,  | 
unsettle    our   faith  |  in    judicial  Oau°thority,  |  and  under- 
mine the  "liberties  |  Oof  the  "whole  people. 

These  "Articles  of  Impeachment"  against  {/)  Oour 
rulers,  |  we  now  submit  |  to  the  (\)  "impartial  (/)  Judg- 
ment |  "of  the  people. 

To  all  these  wrongs  |  and  (/)  oppressions  |  woman 
(/)  Qhas  submitted  |  0in  "silence  |  (\)  "and  resignation. 
And  now,  |  at  the  close  |  of  a  hundred  years,  |  ( — )  as  the 


94  HELEN  PO  TTEK  S 

great  hour-hand  [  of  the  clock  that  marks  the  centuries,  | 
(/)  Opoints  to  1876,  |  we  declare  °our  Qfaiiti,  j  in  the  prin- 
ciples |  of  self-°government ;  our  full  equality  with  man  | 
in  natural  rights  ;  that  woman  was  made  |  °first  Oforher  (\) 
°own  happiness,  with  the  cabsolute  °right  ||  (\)  °to  herself,  | 
to  all  the  opportunities  \  {/)  and  advantages  |  °life  (/) 
Oaffords,  [for  her  Ocom°plete  (\)   °development ;  and  we 
°deny  |  0that  °dogma  (/)  Oof  the   centuries,  |  incorporated 
in   the    codes  |  of  call  Onations  |  that    "woman  |  (\)    °was 
made  for  man;  (\)  °her  interests  in  °all  cases,  |  to  be  sac- 
rificed |  Oto  °his  |  °will. 

We  ask  of  our  rulers,  |  at  this  hour,  |  °no  special  (/ ) 
Ofavors,  |  °no  special  (/)  privileges,  |  no  special  (\) 
°legislation.     We  ask  justice,  |  we  ask  equality,  |  we  ask  j 

that  ALL  THE  CIVIL  AND  POLITICAL  RIGHTS  THAT  BELONG 
TO  THE  CITIZENS  |  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES,  |  BE  GUARAN- 
TEED  TO   US  II  AND   TO    OUR   DAUGHTERS  ||  FOREVER. 


Elizabeth  Cadt  Stanton,  daughter  of  Judge  Daniel  Cady  and 
Margaret  Livingston,  was  born  at  Johnstown,  IN".  Y.,  November  12, 
181*i.  She  early  distinguished  herself  for  her  knowledge  of  Greek 
and  of  law;  bat  as  degrees  were  not  given  to  women,  and  feeling  the 
injustice  of  public  sentiment  and  law  concerning  her  privileges,  she 
became  an  ardent  advocate  of  equal  rights  and  woman's  suffrage. 
Mrs.  Stanton  is  a  lady  of  medium  size,  with  full,  fair  face,  surmounted 
by  a  halo  of  soft,  fluffy  white  hair,  so  beautiful  as  to  be  universally 
remarked.  Portly  and  dignified,  graceful  and  gracious,  intelligent 
and  just,  with  a  most  charming  repose  born  of  benevolence,  this  is 
the  crude  pen-picture  of  a  noble  woman  of  seventy-five  ;  a  pioneer  of 
reform ;  a  representative  American  woman.  Keeping  this  ideal  in 
mind,  speak  her  words  with  the  grace,  dignity  and  earnestness 
worthy  the  woman,  and  the  cause  she  so  ably  represents. 

Costume  and  Rendition. —  A  rich,  dark  robe,  plainly  made,  open 
at  the  throat,  revealing  a  soft  white  kerchief  or  lace  crossed  under- 
neath, and  a  tabbed  head-piece  of  black  thread-lace,  completes  the 
toilet. 

The  text  may  be  read  standing  by  a  table  or  desk,  with  a  chair  or 
two  near  by.  Make  few  gestures,  speak  deliberately  and  with  sub- 
dued force. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


95 


NEWSPAPERS. 


A   STUDY   OP   REV.  T.  DEWITT    TALMAGE. 


WHAT  but  the  newspaper- 
press,  |  have  all  their 
wheels  full  of  eyes  ?  All 
other  wheels  are  blind; 
but  the  newspaper-press 
has  sharp  eyes,  I  keen 
eyes,  |  eyes  that  look  up 
and  down;  |  far-sighted 
and  wear-sighted;  |  that 
take  in  the  next  street 
and  the  next  hemisphere  ; 
||  eyes  of  criticism;  |  eyes 
of  investigation;  |  eyes 
sparkling  with  health ; 
eyes  glaring  with  indig- 
nation; |  eyes  tender  and 
loving ;  eyes  frowning  and  suspicious ;  eyes  of  hope ;  blue 
eyes ;  black  eyes ;  green  eyes ;  sore  eyes ;  histwical  eyes ; 
literary  eyes ;  ecclesiastical  eyes ;  °°eyes  op  all  sorts  ! 
(0Brethren,  I  forgot ;  our  business  meeting  comes  Friday 
evening ;  we  want  money,  and  we  want  it  bad !) 

°For  all  the  Athenians  and  strangers  which  were  there, 
spent  their  time  in  nothing  else  but  to  hear  or  tell  |  some 
new  thing!  That  text  gives  the  cry  of  the  world  |  for  a 
newspaper.  In  proportion  as  men  become  wise,  they  become 
inquisitive;  not  about  small  thing's,  but  about  greater  things. 
ocThe  great  question  thunders,  00whats  the  news  !  what's 
the  news  !  °Rome  answered  the  question  with  the  acta- 
diurna  ;  France  answered  it  |  when  her  physicians  wrote 
out  the  news  |  for  patients ;  England  answered  it  |  by  pub- 


96  HELEN  POTTER'S 

lishing  accounts  |  of  the  Spanish  Armacfa;  America 
answered  it,  |  when  Benjamin  Harris,  published  the  first 
weekly  newspap'er,  in  Boston,  in  1690. 

Alas'!  through  what  a  struggle,  |  has  the  newspaper  come 
to  its  present  development.  As  soon  as  it  began  to  demon' - 
strate  its  power,  superstition  and  tyranny  |  shackled  it. 
There's  nothing  |  despotism,  ]  so  much  fears,  |  as  the  printing- 
press.  It  has  °°too  many  eyes  !  Russia,  |  the  meanest  and 
most  cruel  despotism  on  earth  to-day,  J  keeps  the  printing- 
press  under  severe  espionage.  ( ' )  A  great  writer  in  the  south 
of  Europe  declared  that  the  King  of  Naples  had  made  it 
unsafe  to  write  on  any  subject,  |  but  Natural  History. 
Austria  could  not  bear  Kossuth's  journalistic  p"eh,  plied  |  for 
the  redemption  of  Hungary.  Napoleon  1st,  wanting  to  keep 
his  iron  heel  j  upon  the  neck  of  nations,  said  that  the  print- 
ing-press |  was  the  regent  of  Icings,  and  that  the  only  safe 
place  to  keep  an  editor,  wras  in  prison.  But  the  great  bat- 
tles |  for  freedom  of  the  press,  were  fought  in  England  and 
America. 

I  address  you  this  evening,  |  on  a  subject  you  never 
heard  before  —  the  (\)  immeasurable  (\)  ever(\)lasting 
blessing  of  a  °good  °news0paper !  Thank  God,  their  wheels 
are  full  of  eyes !  I  give  you  this  overwhelming  statistic. 
In  the  year  1870,  the  number  of  copies  of  literary  and 
political  newspapers,  published  |  in  this  country,  was  °one 
billion,  °°five  hundred  million.  °What  0clmrch,  °what 
Oreforiner,  °what  Christian  man,  |  can  disregard  these 
things  ?  I  tell  you,  my  friends,  |  a  good  newspaper  |  is  the 
grandest  blessing  |  that  God  has  given  to  the  people  of  this 
century;  the  grandest  temporal  blessing.  We  have  seven 
thousand  dailies  and  weeklies  in  the  United  States,  and 
only  °thirty-six  0are  a  half  century  old.  The  average  life 
of  a  newspaper  is  "five  0years,  and  most  of  them  die  |  of 
cholera  infantum  ! 

( * )  Es'pe-on-azh. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  97 

To  publish  a  newspaper,  one  requires  the  skill,  precision, 
vigilance  and  strategy  of  a  °° commander-in-chief  .  To  edit  a 
newspap'er,  |  one  needs  to  be  a  statesman,  |  a  geographer,  | 
a  statistician,  and  so  far  as  all  knowledge  is  concerned,  | 
00 encyclopedic  !  ||  And  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  have  an 
idea,  |  either  moral,  social,  political,  or  religious,  you  had 
better  charge  on  the  world,  through  the  columns  already 
established.  Newspapers  are  also  the  repositories  of 
knowledge  ;  the  reservoirs  of  history.  Adams,  Jefferson, 
Franklm,  Clinton,  |  had  their  hands  on  the  printing-press. 
If  one  should  see  in  a  lifetime,  in  the  way  of  literature, 
only  the  Bible,  Shakespeare,  a  dictionary,  and  one  °good 
newspaper,  |  0he  would  be  fitted  for  all  the  duties  of  this 
life";  [  and  for  the  opening  of  the  next.  They  are  also  a 
blessing  in  their  evangelical  influence.  The  Christian  print- 
ing-press will  be  the  oc "right  wing  of  the  apocalyptic  angel! 
°The  cylinders  of  the  Christian  printing-press  |  will  be  the 
00 front  wheels,  of  the  Lords  chariot.  The  music  they  make  | 
I  mark  in  crescendo  ( ' )  |  and  not  diminuendo  !         [Exit.] 


Rev.  Thomas  DbWitt  Talmage,  D.  D.,  an  American  clergyman, 
was  born  at  Bound  Brook,  N.  J.,  Jan.  7,  1832.  He  was  graduated 
at  the  University  of  the  City  of  New  York  in  1853,  and  at  the  Theo- 
logical School  at  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.,  in  1856.  After  holding 
various  Dutch  Reform  pastorates  he  became,  in  1869,  pastor  of  a 
Presbyterian  Church,  in  Brooklyn,  in  connection  with  which  he 
founded,  in  1872,  a  newspaper  and  a  lay  college  for  religious  and 
general  education.  He  has  won  great  popularity  as  an  extempo- 
raneous lecturer.  He  is  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  long  arms  and  a  bald 
spot  on  his  head.  His  voice  is  sharp,  penetrating  and  nasal.  His 
manner  is  characterized  by  sudden  transitions  in  pitch,  many  falling 
inflections,  unusual  attitudes  and  gestures.  He  is  a  powerful,  effec- 
tive and  eccentric  speaker. 

Costume  and  Rendition.  —  Dr.  Talmage's  dress  is  a  frock  coat  but- 
toned up  to  the  chin.  His  hair  and  side  whiskers  are  a  light  brown. 
Enter  with  long,  quick  steps,  and  at  the  highest  places  in  the  speech, 
throw  both  arms  high  over  head,  and  bring  them  down,  body  and 
all,  on  the  last  word  of  the  climax.  At  other  times,  the  hands  may  be 
clasped  behind  the  back,  or  one  slipped  into  the  bosom  of  the  coat. 
The  peculiarity  of  his  speaking  lies  in  the  sharp,  rather  nasal  voice, 
high  pitched,  and  his  stronglv  marked  climaxes. 

(')  Crescendo  —  Cresh-Sn'-do. 


HELEN  POTTERS 

PORTIA  AND  NERISSA. 


From  "Merchant  of  Venice." — Shakespeare. 


A  STUDY  OP  MRS.  MARY  F.  SCOTT-SIDDONS. 


Argument. — Portia,  the  only  child  and  heir  of  a  rich  Venetian  noble- 
man, is  compelled,  by  her  father's  will,  to  accept  in  marriage  the 
suitor  who  chooses  the  right  casket  from  among  three,  made  of  gold, 
silver,  and  lead.  The  conversation  is  in  regard  to  the  suitors  who 
seek  her  hand  and  fortune. 


Act  I.,  Scene  II. — Belmont.     A  room  in  Portia's  house.     Enter  Portia 
and  Nerissa.* 

Por.  By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  a-weary  of 
this  great  world. 

Ner.  You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  your  miseries  were 
in  the  same  abundance  as  your  °good  fortunes  are.  And 
yet,  for  aught  I  see,  they  are  as  sick  that  surfeit  with  too 
much,  as  they  that  starve  with  nothing.  It  is  no  °small 
0happiness,  therefore,  to  be  seated  in  the  mean  ;  superfluity 
comes  sooner  by  white  hairs,  but  competency  lives  longer. 

Por.  ( — )  °Good  0sentences,  and  well  pronounced. 

Ner.  They  would  be  better,  if  well  °follo\ved. 

Por.  If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good  to 
do^  chapels  had  been  churches,  |  and  poor  meii's  cottages 
princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  °good  0divine  |  that  follows  his 
own  instructions :  I  can  easier  teach  °twenty  |  what  were 
good  to  be  °d6ne,  than  be  °one  |  of  the  twenty  |  0to  follow 
mine  own  teaching.  (/)  The  brain  |  may  devise  laws  Ofor 
the  °blood ;  but  a  hot  temper  |  leaps  o'er  a  cold  decree ; 
such  a  hare  is  0madness,  |  the  0youth,  |  to  skip  o"er  the 
meshes  of  °good  counsel,  the  °  cripple.  ( ' )  cBut  this  reason- 
ing is  not  in  the  fashion  to  choose  me  a  husband.  (\)  °0 
me,  |  the  word  |  "choose!  I  may  neither  choose  °whom  0I 
°w6uld,  |  nor  0refuse  whom  I  °dislike ;  so  is  the  will  of  a 

*  Full  voice  for  Portia  ;  light  and  high  for  Nerissa. 

( > )  Sigh  ;  then  begin  high  and  soft  and  run  down  the  scale  to  the  end  of  the 
sentence. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  99 

living  daughter  |  curbed  by  the  will  of  a  °dead  father. 
(\)  "Is  it  not  hard,  0Nerissa,  that  I  cannot  °choose  °one, 
nor  0refuse  "none  ? 

Ner.  ( — )  Your  father  was  ever  virtuous ;  and  holy  men 
at  their  death  have  good  inspirations ;  therefore,  the  lottery 
that  he  hath  devised  in  these  three  chests  of  gold,  silver, 
and  lead  (whereof  who  chooses  his  meaning  chooses  you), 
will,  no  doubt,  never  be  chosen  by  °any  0rightly,  but  one 
who  you  shall  rightly  love.  But  what  (\)  ° warmth  is 
there  |  in  your  affection  |  toward  any  of  these  princely 
suitors  |  that  are  already  °come  ? 

Por.  I  pray  thee  (\)  °overname  them;  and  as  thou 
namest  them  |  I  will  °describe  them ;  and  according  to  my 
description  |  level  |  at  my  affection. 

Ner.  First,  |  there  is  the  Neapolitan  prince. 

Por.  Ay,  (\)  "that's  a  colt,  |  (\)  indeed,  |  for  he  doth 
nothing  but  talk  of  his  °horse  ;  and  he  makes  it  a  great 
appropriation  to  his  own  °good  0parts  |  that  he  can  °shoe 
him  himself. 

Ner.  ( — )  Then,  is  there  the  county  Palatine. 

Por.  0He  doth  nothing  but  "frown  ;  as  who  should  say,  (2) 
"An'  you  will  not  0have  °me,  °choose."  He  hears  merry 
tales,  and  smiles  not.  I  fear  he  will  prove  the  weeping 
philosopher  when  he  grows  old,  being  so  full  of  unmannerly 
sadness  in  his  youth.  I  had  rather  to  be  married  to  a 
death's  head  |  with  a  (\)  bone  in  his  mouth,  than  to  either 
of  the"ie.  (a)     God  defend  me  from  °these  Otwo  ! 

Ner.  How  say  you  by  the  "French  lord,  Monsieur  le  Bon  ? 

Por.  (\)  God  made  him,  |  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for 
a  man.  In  truth,  |  I  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a  mocker.  But 
he  !  why,  he  hath  a  horse  better  than  the  Neapolitan's ;  a 
better  bad  habit  of  frowning  than  the  Count  Palatine  :  he 
is  "every  man  in   "no  0man.     If  a  throstle  siiig  he  falls 

(s)In  a  mock  braggadocio  style,  running  well  up  the  scale  on  "me  "and 
down  on  "  choose." 
( 3 )  Turn  the  eyes  upward,  shake  the  head,  and  shrug  the  shoulders. 


100  HELEN  POTTER'S 

straight  a  capering ;  he  will  fence  with  his  own  shadow. 
If  I  should  many  him  I  should  marry  °twenty  0husbands. 
0lf  he  would  despise  me  |  I  would  forgive  him ;  for  if  he 
love  me  to  madness  |  I  shall  j  never  requite  him. 

Ner.  ( — )  What  say  you,  then,  |  to  °Faulconbridge,  the 
young  baron  of  England  ? 

Por.  You  know  I  say  °nothing  to  him ;  |  for  he  under- 
stands not  me,  |  nor  I  him  :  |  he  hath  neither  Latin,  French, 
nor  Italian ;  and  you  will  come  into  the  court  and  swear 
that  /  have  a  poor  pennyworth  in  the  English.  He  is  a 
proper  man's  0pic°ture.  But,  alas  !  who  can  converse  with 
a  dumb  show  ?  (4)  °How  oddly  he  is  suited  !  (/)  I  think 
he  bought  his  doublet  in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France, 
his  bonnet  in  Germany,  and  his  behavior  |  Everywhere. 
[Laugh  heartily.'] 

Ner.  What  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his  neighbor  ? 

Por.  That  he  hath  a  neighborly  ( 5 )  °charity  in  him";  for 
he  borrowed  a  box  |  of  the  ear  of  the  Englishman,  |  and 
swore  he  would  p~ay  him  again  (")  °when  he  was  °a0ble. 
I  think  the  Frenchman  became  his  surety,  and  sealed  under 
for  Oan°oth0er. 

Ner.  How  like  you  the  young  German — the  Duke  of 
Saxony's  nephew  ? 

Por.  ( 7 )  Very  vilely  in  the  morning,  when  he  is  sober ; 
and  °most  0vilely  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  is  drunk. 
When  he  is  best  |  he  is  a  little  worse  than  a  man ;  |  and 
when  he  is  worst  he  is  little  better  |  than  a  °beast :  ( s )  an' 
the  worst  fall  that  ever  fell,  |  I  hope  I  shall  make  shift  to 
go  without  him. 

Ner.  If  he  should  offer  to  choose,  and  choose  the_right 
casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your  father's  will  if 
you  should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

(  4  )  In  a  high  key,  mirthfully. 
(  5  )  Prolong  "  charity." 
(«)  Laugh  lightly. 

( 7 )  Shiver  and  with  a  look  of  disgust. 

(8)  Slowly. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  101 

Por.  (\)  °Therefore,  |  for  fear  of  the  worst.,  |  I  pray 
thee  |  set  a  deep  glass  of  Rhenish  wine  on  the  contrary 
casket ;  for,  if  the  devil  be  within,  |  and  that  temptation 
without,  |  I  °know  |  he  will  °choose  it.  I  will  do  Any- 
thing, |  0Neris"sa,  |  ere  I  will  be  married  to  a  sponge. 

Ner.  You  need  not  fear,  lady,  |  the  having  any  |  of  these 
lords ;  they  have  acquainted  me  with  their  determinations ; 
which  is,  |  indeed,  |  to  return  to  their  home  |  and  to  trouble 
you  with  no  more  suit;  ||  unless  you  may  be  won  |  by  some 
°other  °sort  than  your  father's  imposition,  |  depending  on 
the  °caskets. 

Por.  ( 9 )  If  I  live  to  be  Das  °old  as  Sibylla  |  I  will  die  as 
°chaste  as  0Diana,  |  unless  I  be  obtained  |  by  the  manner 
of  my  father's  will.  ( 10 )  I  am  glad  this  parcel  of  wooers 
are  so  reasonable  ;  ( — )  for  there  is  not  (\)  °one  among 
them  |  but  I  dote  J  on  his  very  absence,  |  and  I  pray 
heaven  grant  them  j  a  fair  departure. 

Ner.  ( — )  Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's 
time,  |  a  Venetian,  |  a  scholar,  and  a  soldier,  |  that  came 
hither  |  in  company  of  the  Marquis  of  ( !1 )  Montferrat  ? 

Por.  ( 12 )  Yes^  |  yes,  [  it  was  Bassanio ;  as  I  think  |  so 
was  he  called. 

Ner.  (\)  °True,  madam;  |  °he,  |  of  all  the  men  |  that 
ever  °my  foolish  eyes  looked  upon,  |  was  the  °best  deserv- 
ing |  a  fair  lady. 

Por.  ( 13 )  I  remember  him  °well ;  |  and  I  remember  him  | 
° worthy  of  thy  praise. 

[Enter  a  /Servant.] 

/Serv.  ( H )  The  four  strangers  seek  you,  |  madam,  |  to 
take  their  leave  :  and  there  is  a  forerunner  come  from  a 
fifth,  |  the  Prince  of  Morocco ;  |  who  brings  word  the 
prince,  |  his  master,  |  will  be  here  to-night. 

(9)  Solemnly. 
(">l  Lightly. 
(  n  )  Mon-fer-ra'. 

( 12  )  Hesitates,  pretending  to  recall  with  difficulty. 
(13)  More  confidently. 
( u )  In  the  monotonous  voice  of  a  servant. 


102  HELEN  POTTER'S 

For.  If  I  could  bid  the  fifth  °welcome  |  with  so  good  a 
heart  |  as  I  can  bid  the  °other  Ofour  0farewell,  I  should  be 
glad  of  his  approach ;  if  he  have  the  condition  of  a  saint,  | 
and  the  complexion  of  a  devil,  |  I  had  rather  he  should 
°shrive  me  |  than  °wive  me.  °Come,  GNerissa.  oyirrah,  go 
before. 

('6)  °Whiles  we  shut  the  gate  |  upon   °one  Owoo"er,   ( — ) 
0 another  |  knocks  |  at  the  door.  [Exeunt.] 


Mrs.  Mary  F.  Scott-Si ddons,  the  English  actress,  is  directly 
descended  from  the  famous  Sarah  Siddons,  and  partakes  of  her  beauty 
and  talent.  The  elocutionary  peculiarities  of  this  accomplished 
lady  are,  rapidity  of  utterance,  and  the  free  use  of  sweeping  inflec- 
tions, often  an  octave  in  compass,  and  mostly  those  of  the  kind  known 
as  simple  and  compound  rising  inflections.  Her  voice  is  clear  and 
musical,  but  rather  light.  In  transition  from  one  character  to  another, 
little  change  is  made  in  quality  or  manipulation  of  the  voice.  Her 
characters,  in  dialogue  or  drama,  speak  very  much  alike.  All  have 
clear,  ringing  voices,  and  use  the  same  sweeping  inflections.  This, 
however,  does  not  affect  her  acting,  where  she  is  called  upon  to 
sustain  one  character  only.  Her  impersonation  of  "King  Rene's 
Daughter"  (the blind  girl  who  thought  all  persons  like  herself,  being 
ignorant  of  her  misfortune)  is  one  of  the  most  exquisitely  refined  and 
graceful  performances  ever  witnessed  in  this  country,  and  her  "  Rosa- 
lind "  is  almost  as  good. 

In  appearance,  she  is  of  medium  size,  giving  an  impression  of  being 
tall  and  slight  of  figure.  She  walks  upon  the  lyceum  platform  with 
long,  gliding  steps,  and  deliberately  arranges  her  stand,  books,  chair 
and  train  before  acknowledging  her  audience.  Then  she  opens  a 
large  volume  of  Shakespeare,  looks  about  her,  and,  without  salutation, 
begins  to  read  very  rapidly,  or  rather  recites  from  the  selected  play. 

Her  gestures  are  few,  and  those  with  the  right  hand  only,  the  left 
resting  lightly  upon  the  open  book,  which  lies  upon  a  small  table  at 
her  left.  At  the  close  of  Part  First,  also  at  the  end  of  the  program, 
she  retires  with  a  slight  bow,  and  the  same  long,  sweeping  step  as 
before. 

Costume. — The  costume  is  Venetian — white,  trimmed  with  silver ; 
long  open  sleeves,  low  corsage,  with  full  long  drapery.  It  is  very  be- 
coming to  young  ladies  of  fair  complexion. 

This  scene  is  prepared  for  a  reading— not  for  a  monologue  imper- 
sonation, and  the  antique  or  the  modern  evening  dress  can  be  worn. 
For  her  readings,  Mrs.  Scott-Siddons  wears  unique  and  tasteful  robes, 
evidently  of  her  own  design,  often  with  very  rare  laces,  and  draperies 
of  antique  form. 

( »• )  As  if  weary,  sigh,  and  move  slowly  away. 


IMFERS0NA1I0NS.  103 


PORTIA  AT  THE  BAR. 


From  "Merchant  of  Venice. " — Shakespeare. 


A    STUDY    OF    MISH    ELLEN    TERRY. 


Argument. — Antonio,  a  rich  merchant  of  Venice,  by  signing  a  bond 
to  a  Jew  for  cash,  loans  his  friend  Bassanio  three  thousand  ducats. 
Disasters  follow,  the  money  is  not  returned,  and  the  Jew  insists  upon 
having  the  penalty  of  the  bond,  which  is  a  pound  of  Antonio's  flesh. 
Portia,  disguised  as  a  young  doctor  of  laws,  proceeds  to  Venice  and 
pleads  the  case  before  the  duke. 


Act  IV.,  Scene  I. — A  court-room  in  Venice.     Enter  Portia.     {Pause 
and  look  right  and  left.] 

Por.  Which  |  [r.  h.  s.  h.  o.]  is  the  merchant  here,  |  and 
which  |  [I.  h.  s.  h.  o.]  the  Jew  ? 

Duke.  [Disg.  v.].  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand 
forth. 

Por.  [looking  right].  (/)  Is  your  name  |  0Shy°lock  ? 

Shy.  [gruff].  ( — )  Shylock  |  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  °strange  0nature  |  is  the  suit  you  follow ;  yet 
in  such  rule,  |  that  the  Venetian  law  cannot  0im°pugn 
0you,  |  as  you  do  proceed.  [Turn  and  look  left,  r.  h.  h.  /.] 
You  ||  stand  within  his  danger,  |  ( / )  do  you  not  ? 

Ant.  [voice].  ( — )  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Por.  \\)°T>o  you  Ocon  |  °fess  the  °bond? 

Ant.  [voice].  ( — )  I  do. 

Por.  °Then  |  must  the  Jew  |  0be  (\)  °merciful. 

Shy.  [gruff].  On  what  compulsion  |  0must  I?  Tell  me 
that. 

Por.  [surprised].  The  quality  of  mercy  |  is  not  |  strained;  j 
[t  droppeth,  |  [look  up,  b.  h.  a.  o.]  as  the  gentle  ram  from 
heaven,  I 


104  HELEN  POTTERS 

Upon  the  place  [b.  h.  o.  e.]  (!)  beneath.      oIt  is  °twice 

0bless'd ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives  |  and  hinT  that  takes  : 
(/)  'Tis  mightiest  |  °in  |  0the  mightiest.     It  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  j  better  than  his  crown  : 
His  sceptre  |  shows  the  force  of  °temporal  0power,  | 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty,  | 
(-  -)  0Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  °fear  |  of  king's. 
But  mercy  ||  is  a°bove  (/)  this  sceptred  sway,  | 
(--)  It  is  enthroned  |  in  the  (\)  °hearts  of  kings, 
(/)  It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
And  (\)  °earthly  power  j  doth  °then  Oshow  "likest  °God's 
When  mercy  |  seasons  justice.     Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  °be  thy  °plea,  (/)  consider  °this, — - 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  |  Onone  of  us  | 
( — )  Should  see  salvation.     (/)  We  do  pray  for  °mer0cy; 
And  that  same  prayer  |  doth  teach  us  |  °all  |  to  render 
The  ( \ )  ° deeds  of  mercy.     I  have  spoke  thus  much, 
( — )  To  mitigate  the  (^)  "justice  of  thy  plea; 
Which,  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice',  | 
(/)  Must  needs  give  sentence  °'gainst  j  (\)  the  merchait 

there. 
I  pray  you  |  let  me  °look  upon  the  bond. 

[Examine  a  legal  paper  with  a  large  seal  attached;  th-m 
proceed,  tapping  the  document.'] 
Why  |  this  bond  (\)  °is  forfeit ; 
And  lawfully  by  this  |  the  Jew  may  claim  | 
A  pound  of  flesh,  |  to  be  by  him  cut  off  | 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.     (\)  °Be  merciful. 

[Hold  up  the  bond  as  if  about  to  tear  it  to  pieces  J] 
(\)  °Take  thrice  thy  money ;  bid  me  (\)  °tear  the  bond. 

Shy.  [gruff].  ( — )  By  my  soul,  I  swear, 
There  is  no  power  |  in  the  tongue  of  man  | 
To  alter  me:  (/)  I  stay  °here  |  (/)  on  my  °bond. 

( 1 )  Be-neath  th  as  in  "  this." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  105 

Por.  °Why,  0then,  |  (-  -)  thus  it  is.     [To  Antonio,  left.] 
(__)  You  must  prepare  your  bosom  |  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  [gruff].  0  noble  judge;  0  (\)  Excellent  young 

man ! 

por.  (_  _)  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law  | 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty. 

Shy.  [gruff].  0  wise  and  upright  judge*,  | 
(-  -)  How  much  more  |  °elder  art  thou  |  than  thy  looks. 

Por.  Therefore,  |  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  [gruff].  Ay,  his  breast.     [Portia  looks  about  her.] 

Por.  Are  there  |  0bal°ance  here,  to  (/)  0weigh  the  flesh? 

Shy.  [gruff].  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  °surgeoh,  Shylock,  on  your  charge, 
To  °stop  0his  °wouuds,  |  lest  he  do  (\)  °bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  [gruff].  Is  it  so  nominated  (/)  in  the  bond? 

Por.  It  is  not  so  0expressed ;  |  but  what  of  °that  ? 
Twere  good  you  do  °so  0much  |  for  ( \ )  °charity. 

Shy.  [gruff].  ( — )  I  cannot  find  it ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Par.  A  pound  [I.  h.  h.  e.]  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  | 
is  thine ; 
The  °court  0awards  it,  |  (/)  and  the  law  |  doth  give  it. 

Shy.  [gruff].  Most  rightful  judge  ! 

Poi\  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  [gruff].  A  sentence ;  come,  |  prepare. 

Por.  (\ )  °Tarry  a  little ;  |  there  is  something  °else. 

[Looking  over  the  bond.] 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here,  (\)  °no  jot  of  °blood ;  | 
The  words  0ex°pressly  °are  |  a  °pound  |  of  flesh. 
(\)  °Take  then  |  0thy  °boitd,  |  °take  Othou  |  thy  °pound  of 

flesh ; 
( — )  But,  in  the  cutting  it,  J  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  |  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  |  confiscate 
Unto  the  (\)  "state  of  Venice. 


106  HELEN  POTTERS 

Shy.  [gruff].  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Por.  ( — )  Thyself  shalt  see  the  act ; 
■    [Cross  over  and  take  up  a  large  book;  hold  it  out,  and  lay  it 
down  as  you  proceed  with  the  speech,  and  return  to  the 
former  position.] 
For  as  thou  urgest  justice",  |  be  assur'd  | 
Thou  shalt  (\)  °have  justice,  |  more  than  thou  desir'Bt. 
Therefore,  |  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  |  the  flesh ;  | 
Shed  thou  no  blo'od ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more, 
But  just  a  pound  |  of  flesh ;  if  thou  tak'st  more, 
Or  less  |  than  a  just  pound,  be  it  but  so  much 

[Balance  the  hands  like  scales.] 
(-  -)  As  makes  it  light  or  heavy,  |  in  the  substance,  | 
Or  the  division  |  (/)  of  the  twentieth  part 
(/)  Of  one  poor  °scruple;  |  °nay,  |  if  the  scale  do  turn 
(/)  But  in  the  estimation  |  of  a  °hair, — 
Thou  diest  |  and  all  thy  goods  |  are  confiscate. 

[Pause  and  look  as  if  waiting  a  'movement,  b.  h.  h.  o.J 
Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?     °Take  |  thy  forfeiture. 

Shy.  [gruff].  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Por.  (-  -)  Thou  shalt  have  |  °nothing  |  °but  |  the  °forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  |  (/)  at  thy  °peril,  |  0Jew. 

[Pause.]  Tarry,  Je"w;  | 

The  law  |  hath  yet  (\)  °another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  |  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien,  | 
That  by  direct  |  or  °indirect  0attempts  | 
He  seek  the  life  |  of  °any  citizen, 
The  party  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive, 
Shall  seize  one-half  his  goods ;  the  other  half, 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  |  of  the  State ; 
And  the  offender's  life  |  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  °duke  0only,  |  'gainst  all  other  voice ; 
0In  °which  opre0dicament,  |  I  say,  °thou  0stand'st. 
For  it  appears,  by  manifest  proceeding,  | 


IMPERSONATIONS.  107 

That,  indirectly  |  and  directly,  too",  | 

Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life  j 

Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurr'd 

The  danger  |  formerly  by  me  rehears'd. 

Down,  |  therefore,  |  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Duke  [voice].  I  pardon  thee  thy  life  |  before  thou  ask  it. 
[Turn  and  address  yourself  to  the  other  side,  to  the  duke.] 
Pot:  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon ; 

I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 

And  it  is  meet  |  I  presently  set  forth.      [Bow  and  pass  out.] 


Miss  Ellen  Terry,  an  English  actress  of  ability  and  position,  won 
many  friends  and  admirers  in  this  country,  during-  her  recent 
engagements  with  Henry  Irving.  Her  well-rounded  and  finished 
performances  in  historical  drama  have  established  her  in  the  minds 
and  affections  of  our  people.  In  appearance  she  is  tall,  slender,  and 
graceful ;  a  fair  and  stately  blonde.  As  Portia  she  is  quiet,  self- 
poised,  and  impressive  ;  a  truly  beautiful  character. 

Costdmb.— Black  shapes  and  tunic,  or  jacket,  over  which  is  worn 
a  black  brocade  silk  doctor's  robe,  reaching  to  the  floor,  and  open 
down  the  front ;  a  black  silk  cap,  and  low  shoes  ornamented  with 
bright  buckles  ;  the  sleeves  double,  close  under-sleeves,  with  full 
flowing  sleeves  over  them  ;  a  straight  round  collar  and  wrist-bands 
of  white  linen. 


FROM  THE  SUBLIME  TO  THE  RIDICULOUS. 


I  stood  upon  the  ocean's  briny  shore, 

And  with  a  fragile  reed  I  wrote  upon  the  sands. 

"Agnes,  I  love  thee  !  "     [Grandiloquently.] 
The  mad  waves  rolled  by  and  blotted  out  the  fair  impression. 

Frail  reed  !  cruel  waves  !  treacherous  sands ! 

I'll  trust  thee  no  more  !   (<)  but  with  a  giant's  hand 
I'll  pluck  from  Norway's  frozen  shore  her  tallest  pine, 
Dip  it  in  Vesuvius'  boiling  lava, 
And  on  the  high  and  burnished  heavens  I'll  write, 

00  "Agnes,  I  love  thee  !  " 
[Tamely.]    And  I  would  like  to  see  any  confounded  wave 
wash  that  out. 


108  HELEN  PO  HEP'S 


DONA  SOL. 


From  "  Hernani." — Victor  Hugo. 


A   STUDY   OF   SARAH  BERNHARDT. 


Argument. — A  beautiful  Spanish  girl  is  accustomed  to  meet  her  lover 
clandestinely,  because  he  is  a  fugitive  outlaw.  The  king,  Don 
Carlos,  enamored  of  her  charms,  attempts  to  meet  her  alone  to 
press  his  suit.  By  giving  her  lover's  signal  (three  times  clapping 
the  hands)  she  is  decoyed  into  the  garden,  where  he  is  concealed. 
Discovering  her  mistake,  she  attempts  to  retreat,  but  he  detains 
her  by  force  ;  whereupon  she  snatches  the  dagger  from  his  girdle, 
and,  by  threats  of  self-destruction,  forces  him  to  desist. 


Act  II.,  Scene  II. — Spain.     Time,  evening.     Dona  Sol  at  the  balcony 
windo  w  above ;  Don  Carlos  in  the  garden  below. 

Dona  /Sol.  Est-ce  vous,  Hernani  ? 

[He  claps  his  hands  three  times.]  Je  descends  ! 

[She  closes  the  window,  and  a  moment  later  appears  at  a 
latticed  door  below,  a  lace  scarf  draped  about  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  an  antique  lamp  held  above  her  head.  She 
steps  stealthily  into  the  garden,  peering  into  the  darkness, 
and  in  a  suppressed  voice  calls  her  lover's  name.] 

Hernani  ?  [Listens,  then  drops  her  lamp.] 
Dieu  !  ce  n'est  point  son  pas  ! 

Don  C.  [throw  off  the  voice].  Dona  Sol ! 

Dona  S.  Ce  n'est  point  sa  voice !  ah,  malheureuse ! 

Don  C.  C'est  un  amant  rbi ! 

Dona  S.  Le  roi  ? 

Don  C.  C'est  Carlos,  ton  esclave ! 


IMPERSONATIONS.  109 

Dona  S.  [retreating],  Au  secours,  Hernani ! 

Don  C.  Venez,  vous  serez  reine,  imperatrice  J 

Dona  8.  Non,  c'est  un  leurre ;  et  d'ailleurs, 
Altesse,  avec  franchise  [fast  and  earnest] 
S'agit-il  pas  de  vous,  |  s'il  faut  que  je  le  dise, 
J'aime  mieux  avec  lui,  |  mon  Hernani,  |  mon  roi,  J 
Vivre  errante,  |  en  dehors  du  monde  |  et  de  la  loi ; 
Ayant  faim,  |  ayantlioif,  |  fuyant  °toute  l'annee;  | 
Partageant  jour  a  jour  |  sa  pauvre  destinee,  | 
Abandon,  |  guerre,  j  exil,  |  deuil,  misere  et  terreur  | 
Que  d'etre  0im°peratrice,  avec  un  Empereur. 

Don  C.  Vous  viendrez.     Je  vous  veux  ! 

DonaS.  Seigneur!  oh,  parpitie!  [Kneels.]  Quoi!  vousetes 
Altesse ;  vous  etes  roi !  duchesse,  ou  marquise,  ou  comtesse, 
Vous  n'avez  qu'a  choisir ; 

Mais  mon  proscrit,  (\)  qu'a-t-il  recu  du  ciel  avare  ? 
Ah  [rises]  vous  avez  Castille,  |  Aragon,  et  Navarre,  | 
Et  Murcie,  |  et  Leon,  |  (\)  °dix  royaumes  encore;  | 
Et  les  (\)  °Flamahds,  et  °riiuie,  avec  les  (\)  °mines  d'or; 
Vous  avez  un  empire  |  auquel  nul  (\)  °roi  ne  touche, 
Si  vaste  |  que  °jamais  le  soleil  |  ne  s'y  couche ! 
Et,  quand  vous  avez  tout,  |  ( \)  °voudrez-vous,  |  vo"us,  °le  roi, 
Me  prendre,  |  pauvre  fille,  |  a  lui  qui  n'a  que  moi  ? 

[She  falls  on  her  knees,  grasps  his  mantle  and  implores  him 
to  spare  her.] 

Don  C.  Viens  !     Je  n'ecoute  rieh  ! 

Dona  S.   [with  great  energy].  °°Pour  mon  honneur,  | 
Je  ne  veux  °°rien  de  vous,  que  ce  °°poignard,  0seigneu? ! 

[In  the  play,  she  seizes  the  dagger  from  his  girdle  ;  but  in  the 
monologue,  from  her  own  girdle,  and,  advancing,  poises  it 
to  strike.] 
°Avancez,  maintenant,  0faites  °°un  pas  ! 
°Pour  un  p"as,  |  je  vous  °°tue,  |  et  °me  0tue ! 

[/Staggers  back,  calling  for  help.] 
°°Hernahi !     0OHernani ! 


110  HELEN  POTTERS 

[Exit  backward.  If  recalled,  advance  slowly  and  in  full  view, 
bow  three  times,  to  right,  to  left  and  to  front;  then  keep 
the  bent  posture  and  retire  again,  facing  the  audience  until 
quite  out  of  sight.] 

TRANSLATION. 

Dona  Sol  [in  the  balcony].  Is  it  you,  Hernani?  [Bon 
Carlos  claps  his  hands  three  times,  as  Hernani  would  have  done.] 
I  descend.  [She  closes  the  window  and  enters  the  garden.] 
Hernani!  Heaven!  It  is  not  his  step!  [Turns  to  enter 
the  house.] 

Don  Carlos.  Dona  Sol ! 

Dona  S.  It  is  not  his  voice.     Ah,  misery ! 

Don  C.  It  is  a  royal  lover. 

Dona  S.  The  king ! 

Don  C.  It  is  Carlos,  thy  slave  ! 

Dona  S.  [retreating] .  Help,  Hernani ! 

Don  C.  You  will  be  queen,  empress ! 

Dona  S.  No !  this  is  a  decoy ;  and,  moreover,  your 
Highness — if  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  speak  with  frank- 
ness,— I  would  rather,  with  him,  my  Hernani,  my  king, 
live  a  wanderer,  in  defiance  of  the  world  and  of  the  law, 
hungry  and  thirsty,  fleeing  all  the  year,  partaking  day  by 
day  of  his  poor  destiny,  abandonment,  war,  exile,  misery 
and  terror,  than  to  be  empress  with  an  emperor. 

Don  C.  You  will  come.     I  will  compel  you  ! 

Dona  S.  Seigneur,  oh,  pity  me  !  What !  You  are  great ; 
you  are  king !  Duchess,  marchioness,  or  countess,  you 
have  only  to  choose.  But  my  outlaw,  what  has  he  received 
from  Heaven  ?  And  you  have  Castile,  Aragon,  and  Navarre, 
and  Murcie,  and  Lyons;  ten  kingdoms  beside ;  and  Flanders, 
and  India,  with  mines  of  gold.  You  have  an  empire  so 
vast  that  the  sun  never  sets  upon  it ;  and  when  you  have 
all,  wTould  you,  the  King,  take  me,  a  poor  girl,  from  him 
who  has  nothing  but  me  ? 

Don  C,  Come  !     I  listen  to  nothing. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  Ill 

Dona  /&.  For  my  honor  I  will  have  nothing  from  you, 
but  this  dagger  !  [She  [matches  the  dagger.]  Advance  now  ! 
Take  one  step  !  [He  recoils,  then  advances.]  Advance  one 
step,  and  I  will  kill  you  and  kill  myself!  [Turns  and  cries 
aloud.]     Plernani !     Hernani ! 


Sarah  Bernhardt,  the  world-renowned  French  actress,  was  born 
in  Amsterdam,  about  1847.  Her  father  was  French  and  her  mother 
Dutch,  both  of  the  Hebrew  faith.  She  was  educated  to  her  profession 
in  the  National  Dramatic  School  at  Paris.  Of  slight  figure  and  lithe 
action,  her  style  is  subtle  rather  than  strong.  Her  gliding  walk  and 
undulating  motion  present  the  characteristics  of  the  panther  rather 
than  the  lion,  never  statuesque,  but  insinuating;  seeming  dangerous 
to  approach.  Her  voice  is  clear  and  silvery,  and  words  drop  from 
her  lips  like  liquid  pearls.  When  recalled  by  the  audience,  she 
responds  with  a  series  of  unique  bows,  compound  curves,  somewhat 
like  a  figure  eight ;  beginning  at  the  centre,  or  crossing  of  the  loops, 
she  bends  forward,  and  rotates  the  head  in  an  under  sweep  to  the 
right,  making  one  loop  of  the  figure  eight,  and,  reversing,  forms  the 
other  loop.  In  this  bent  position,  she  remains  swaying  gently  right 
and  left,  the  shoulders,  arms  and  neck  being  in  a  limp  or  relaxed 
condition,  until  the  curtain  falls.  In  case  of  delay,  she  repeats  the 
compound  bow  in  smaller  circles,  or  loops.  Her  gestures  ai-e  easy 
and  natural,  sometimes  languid,  as  if  it  were  easy  and  pleasant  to  live, 
yet  life  was  of  little  moment,  and  wearied  her. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — Spanish.  A  loose  robe  en  train,  high 
heeled  satin  slippers,  a  long  white  Spanish  lace  scarf,  a  dagger 
(concealed)  and  an  antique  lamp,  having  a  heavy  wick  saturated  with 
alcohol. 

The  voice  should  change  for  the  two  characters  ;  the  one  silvery 
and  high,  the  other,  low  and  heavy,  and  disguised  so  as  to  appear  to 
come  from  another  person  near  you. 


TWO  GOOD  POINTS. 


"  Your  aunt  is  coming,  daughter  dear,  and  I  expect  that  you 
Will  always  give  her  while  she's  here  respect,  as  is  her  due. 

"  A  trifle  deaf  she  is,  you  know ;  near-sighted,  too,  I  think ; 
But  such  defects  with  age  must  grow,  and  youth  at  them 
should  wink." 

"  I'm  sure  I'll  like  her  very  much ;"  joy  filled  the  maiden's 

tone. 
"  My  aunt,  I'm  sure,  will  make  me  such  a  lovely  chaperon !" 


112  HELEN  POTTER'S 


CLEOPATRA. 


A  Study  from  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra." — Shakespeare. 


Argument. — Cleopatra,  queen  of  Egypt,  was  driven  from  her  throne, 
but  re-established  by  Julius  Caesar,  B.  C.  47.  Antony  (triumvir  of 
Rome,  after  the  death  of  Julius  Caesar),  captivated  by  her.  repudia- 
ted his  wife,  to  live  with  the  fascinating  Egyptian.  After  the  battle 
of  Actium.  they  were  taken  captive,  and,  with  the  spoils  of  war, 
were  likely  to  suffer  the  humiliation  and  disgrace  of  being  publicly 
exhibited  in  a  triumphal  march  to  Rome.  To  jivoid  this,  and  other 
indignities  which  might  follow,  he  falls  upon  his  sword  and  expires, 
and  she  ends  her  life  by  placing  a  poisonous  asp  to  her  bosom. 


Act  V.,  Scene  II. 

Cleopatra  [enter  speaking].  Now,  Iras,  what  thinkst  thou  ? 
Thou,  an  Egyptian  puppet,  shalt  be  shown 
In  Rome,  |  as  well  as  I ;  mechanic  slaves   . 
With  greasy  aprons,  rules,  and  hammers,  |  shall 
Uplift  us  |  to  the  view ;  in  their  thick  breaths, 
Rank  of  gross  diet,  |  shall  we  be  enclo"uded, 
And  forc'd  |  to  drink  their  vapour. 

Voice.  The  gods  forbid ! 

Cleo.  Nay,  'tis  most  certain,  Iras.     Saucy  lictdfs 
Will  catch  at  us  |  like  wantons  ;  and  scald  rhymers 
Ballad  us  |  out  o'  tune ;  the  quick  comedians  | 
Extemporally  will  stage  us,  |  and  present 
Our  Alexandrian  revels ;  Antony 
Shall  be  brought  drunken  forth,  |  and  I  shall  see 
Some  squeaking  Cleopatra  |  boy  my  greatness. 

Voice.  0  the  good  gods  ! 

Cleo.  Nay,  that  is  certain.     [Turn  about.]     Now,  Char- 
mian,— 

[Enter  Charmian.] 
(w)  °Show  me,  my  women,  |  like  a  °queen.     Go  fetch 
My  best  attires ;  |  I  am  again  |  for  Cydnus, 
To  meet  Mark  Antony :     Sirrah,  Iras,  go. 
0Now,  noble  Charmian,  we'll  despatch  °indeed : 


IMPERSONATIONS.  113 

And,  when  thou  hast  done  this  chafe,  |  I'll  give  thee  leave 
To  play  |  till  doomsday.     °Bring  our  crown  |  and  all. 
(\)  ° Wherefore's  this  noise  ? 

[Enter  one  of  the  Guard.] 

Guard  [disg.  voice.]  Here  is  a  rural  fellow 
That  will  not  be  denied  your  highness'  presence ; 
He  brings  you  figs. 

Cleo.  (\)  °Let  him  come  |  °m.     0How  poor  an  instru- 
ment [Exit  Guard.] 
0May  do  a  noble  deed  !  (\)°he  brings  me  °liberty. 
(/)  My  resolution's  °plac'd,  and  I  have  °nothing 
Of  woman  in  me.     Now  from  head  to  °foof.  | 
0I  am  marble-constant ;  now  the  fleeting  moon  | 
(/)  0No  planet  is  |  of  mine. 

[Re-enter  Guard,  with  a  clown  bringing  a  basket.     Step  for- 
ward and  speak,  as  if  some  one  entered;  sigh.] 
Ah !     Hast  thou  the  pretty  worm  of  (/)  QNilus  there,  j 
That  kills  and  pains  not  ? 

Voice.  Truly  I  have. 

Cleo.  Remember'st  thou  any  (/)  that  have  died  °on't? 

Voice.  Very  many. 

[Reach  out.  take  something  from  tfoi  flower-stand,  smile,  and 
motion  him  to  go.] 

Cleo.  Get  thee  hence ;  farewell. 

[  Watch  him  out,  then  turn  to  Iras,  the  maid,  who  is  supposed 
to  be  on  the  other  side  of  you.  ( ' )] 

Cleo.  Give  me  my  robe,  |  put  on  my  crown ;  ( '"' )  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me.     No'w  no  more, 
The  juice  of  Egypt's  grape  |  shall  moist  this  lip.  (3) 
Quick,  good  Iras  ;  quick,     [asp.]     Methinks  I  hear 
°  Antony  call ;  I  see  him  °rouse  himself 
To  °praise  my  noble  act ;   I  hear  him  mock  ] 

( l )  In  absence  of  a  maid,  have  the  cloak  and  crown  near  by,  and  put  them 
on,  as  you  proceed 
( 2  )  Take  up  the  robe  and  put  it  on. 
( s  )  Put  on  the  crown. 


114  HELEN  EOUER'S 

The  luck  of  Cassar,  which  the  gods  give  men 

To  excuse  their  after  |  °wrath.     Husband,  I  come  :  (4) 

Now  to  that  name  |  my  °courage  |  Oprove  my  title ! 

I  am  fire  and  air ;  j  my  other  elements 

(■~-)  0I  g"ive  to  baser  life.     °Sov,— have  you  done  ? 

"Come,  0then,  |  and  take  the  last  warmth  of  my  lips. 

0Farecwefl,  0kind  Charmiaii ;  °Iras,  016ng  fare°well. 

(5)  [Kiss  them.~\ 
Come,  mortal  wretch,  [to  the  a*p\ 
With  thy  sharp  teeth  |  this  knot  intrinsicate  (8) 
Of  life  |  at  once  untie ;  poor  venomous  fool, 
Be  angry,  and  despatch. 

Char.  [disg.  v.]  0  eastern  star  ! 

Cleo.  0Pea~ce,  °peace  !  (') 
Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ? 

(p.)  As  sweet  as  balm,  |  as  soft  as  air,  |  as  gentle — 
(8)o0  °  Antony!     °  Antony  ! 

(4)  Clasp  hands  upon  the  breast,  with  eyes  to  heaven. 

(  *')  Stoop  and  kiss  one  of  the  maids,  supposed  to  be  kneeling  before  you  ;  do 
this  by  patting  down  your  hand,  as  if  upon  a  head,  bending  forward,  and  let- 
ting your  head  rise  and  fall  gently  as  if  touching  the  forehead  with  your  lips. 

(8)  Put  the  asp,  or  its  substitute,  into  the  bosom.  Stand  in  heroic  attitude, 
tlien  sit  upon  the  couch  and  gently  recline.  Be  sure  that  the  draperies  fall 
artistically  about  you. 

(  7  )  Softly,  with  the  hand  raised  as  if  to  hay  "  hush  !  " 

(  8  )  Pause,  rising  upon  the  elbow,  and  call  :'Antonyr,  Antony,"  then  fall  back 
and  expire. 


Costume.— The  costume  for  Cleopatra  may  he  as  gorgeous  as  your 
purse  will  allow  ;  in  Egyptian  style,  of  course.  Flesh-colored  hose, 
trilt  sandals,  armlets,  bracelets,  necklace,  crown,  large  ear  pendants, 
and  a  coin  head-dress  (a  covering  made  to  fit  the  head  and  fall  down 
to  the  shoulders,  of  gilt  coins  chained  together ;  the  front  showing  a 
row  of  them  across  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  a  most  becoming  and 
beautiful  head-dj-ess) ;  a  fall  of  long  dark  hair  underneath  to  show 
off  the  coin  by  contrast,  and  a  half  open  dress  and  embroidered  cloak, 
i.  e.,  open  half  way  to  the  knee  on  the  left  side.  The  cloak  is  fastened 
by  circular  gilt  ornaments  over  each  breast ;  the  front  and  entire 
body  is  of  cloth  of  gold,  giving  the  appearance  of  a  hammered  metal 
cuirass,  extending  below  the  waist-line.  A  tiger  tlivn  with  head 
complete  thrown  over  the  couch,  adds  to  the  effect.  The  make-up 
should  serve  to  enhance  your  good  points,  and  make  you  as  beautiful 
as  possible. 


IMPEKSONA  riONS. 


115 


SPEECH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


AT    THE    DEDICATION    OP    THE    NATIONAL    CEMETERY,    GETTYS- 
BURG,   NOVEMBER    19,    1863. 


FOURSCORE  and 

seven  years  ago, 
our  fathers  brought 
forth  on  this  conti- 
nent, a  new  nation, 
conceived  in  liber- 
ty, and  dedicated 
to  the  proposition 
that  all  men  are 
created  equal. 
Now  we  are  en- 
gaged in  a  great 
civil  war,  testing 
\  whether  that  na- 
tion or  any  nation, 
so  conceived  and 
so  dedicated,  can 
long  endure.  We 
are  met  on  a  great 
battlefield  of  that  war.  "We  have  come  to  dedicate  a  por- 
tion of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who  here 
gave  their  lives  that  the  nation  might  live.  It  is  alto- 
gether fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot 
consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this  ground.  The  brave  men, 
living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it, 
far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract. 


116  HELEN  POTTER'S 

The  world  will  little  note  nor  long-  remember  what  we  say 
here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for 
ns,  the  living,  rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished 
work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly 
advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us ;  that  from  these  honored 
dead,  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 
they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that  we  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain ; 
that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  free- 
dom ;  and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people 
and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 


Abraham  Lincoln  (Llnk'on),  the  sixteenth  President  of  the  United 
States,  was  bom  in  Hardin  county,  Kentucky,  February  12,  1809, 
and  died  at  the  hands  of  an  assassin  April  15,  18(55.  His  ancestors 
were  of  English  descent.  September  22,  180:2,  he  issued  the  Procla- 
mation of  Emancipation,  in  which  it  was  declared  that  on  the  first 
day  of  January,  1863,  '*  all  persons  held  as  slaves  within  any  state, 
or  designated  part  of  a  state,  the  people  whereof  shall  then  be  in 
rebellion  against  the  United  States,  shall  be  then,  thenceforward  and 
forever  free ;  and  the  Executive  of  the  United  States,  including  the 
military  and  naval  authority  thereof,  will  recognize  and  maintain  the 
freedom  of  such  persons,  and  will  do  no  act  or  acts  to  repress  such 
persons  in  any  efforts  they  may  make  for  their  actual  freedom." 


Introduction  to  Lincoln's  Speech  at  Gettysburg. 

"  On  the  19th  of  November,  1 863,  the  valley  roads  swarmed  with  thou- 
sands whose  feet  were  pressing  to  the  Cemetery  Hill.  Four  months 
had  not  obliterated  from  the  slopes  of  Round  Top  and  the  banks  of 
the  creek  the  traces  of  that  terrible  battle,  to  whose  sacred  memory 
these  crowds  came  to  do  honor.  America's  greatest  orator,  Edward 
Everett,  laid  the  burning  words  of  his  eloquence  on  the  altar  of 
dedication  ;  and  the  solemn  strains  of  a  funeral  dirge  were  borne  on 
the  air  to  the  east  and  the  west,  bathing  with  their  melting  sorrow 
every  hallowed  spot  where  blood  had  been  spilled.  "With  tears,  men 
gazed  on  the  trampled  and  levelled  graves  and  their  shattered  stones, 
and  knelt  uncovered,  while  in  fervent  prayer  the  blood-stained  earth 
was  reverently  given  back  to  God,  for  the  free  burial  of  His  great  and 
glorious  army  of  martyrs. 

"As  Mr.  Everett  closed  his  eulo^ium,  President  Lincoln  rose  upon 
the  platform,  with  intensest  emotion  beaming  from  every  feature  of 
his  speaking  countenance.  Twelve  hundred  patriot  graves,  in  tiers 
of  crescent  shape,  nearly  encircled  him.     Solemnly  his  eye  glanced 


IM PERSONA  TIONS.  1 17 

over  the  long  outstretched  crests,  on  which  had  lately  raged  the  storm 
of  battle,  and  then  turned  to  the  audience."— Abbot's  "  History  of 
Civil  War  in  America." 

An  eyewitness  adds : 

"A  fresh  tide  of  feeling  struggled  in  that  great  warm  heart ;  the 
figure  straightened  taller  than  before,  and,  with  a  strong  though 
tremulous  voice,  the  President  uttered  the  first  sentence  of  his  terse 
and  unsurpassed  address.  The  surrounding  tens  of  thousands  caught 
its  sentiment,  and  rolled  out  their  thunders  of  applause.  In  fuller 
tone  came  another  great  thought,  and  another  response.  Thus  at 
each  period,  until  that  sentence  was  reached  whose  emphasis  those 
who  listened  can  never  forget. 

"  It  seemed  as  the  actual  offering  of  himself  and  that  vast  concourse 
of  people,  and,  indeed,  the  millions  over  whom  he  presides,  a  sacrifice 
on  the  altar  of  country,  of  duty,  of  God.  Every  heart  realized  it  as 
a  solemn  sincerity.  But  in  none  did  it  appear  so  personal,  so  sincere, 
as  in  the  earnest  and  devoted  chief  magistrate  who  was  addressing 
us." 

The  next  day  Edward  Everett  wrote  to  the  President :  "  I  should 
be  glad  if  I  could  flatter  myself  that  I  came  as  near  to  the  central 
idea  of  the  occasion  in  two  hours,  as  you  did  in  two  minutes." 

Note. — When  about  to  recite  this  touching  brief  speech,  if  suitable 
as  to  place  and  time,  give  the  audience  an  idea  of  the  matter  as  herein 
stated,  in  order  to  bring  all  minds  into  unison  and  sympathy  with  the 
subject. 

I  TOLD  YOU  SO. 


Why  did  you  chide  so  bitterly, 

Your  voice  and  eyes  so  full  of  woe  ? 
You  might  have  known  how  it  would  be ; 
I  told  you  so  ! 

Ah,  call  me  cruel  if  you  will, 

"Tis  what  I  should  expect,  I  know ; 
I  beg  you  to  remember  still, 
I  told  you  so  ! 

If  you  will  love  me  to  despair 

It  is  no  fault  of  mine,  you  know ; 
I  call  it  quite  your  own  affair — 
I  told  you  so ! 

And  yet,  why  should  you  look  so  sad  ? 

Why  should  you  take  your  hat  and  go  ? 
You  know  I  love  you,  foolish  lad — 
I  told  you  so  J 


118  HELEN  POTTER'S 


THE  NEGRO  BOATMAN'S  SONG. 


UPON  NEWS  OF  THE  EMANCIPATION  PROCLAMATION. 


Sung  while  "The  tent-iights  glimmer  on  the  land, 

The  ship-lights  on  the  sea." — Whittier, 


Oh,  praise  and  tanks  !     De  Lord  He  come 

To  set  de  people  free ; 
And  massa  tink  it  day  ob  doom, 

And  we  |  oh  jubilee. 
(/)  De  Lord  dat  heap  de  Eed  Sea  waves,  | 

He  jus'  as  'trong  as  den; 
( — )  He  say  de  word  :  |    (/)  We  las'  night  slaves; 

0To-day  |  de  Lord's  free  \  men. 

Chorus. 
(])  De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow, 

We'll  hab  de  rice  an'  corn  ; 
So  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  hear, 

De  driver    |  blow  his  horn. 

Old  massa  on  he  trabbles  gone  ; 

( — )  He  leab  de  Ian'  behind ; 
(/)  De  Lord's  breff  blow  him  °furder  on, 

0Like  corn  shuck  in  de  wind. 
(/)  We  own  de  hoe,  (\)  we  own  de  plow, 

(/)  We  own  de  han's  dat  °hold; 
(-  -)  We  sell  de  pig,  we  sell  de  cow, 

But  nebber  chile  |  be  sold. — Chorus. 


( » )  Keep  the  rhythmical  accent,  with  a  thought  of  dancing. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  1 19 

( — )  °We  pray  de  Lord ;  0He  gib  us  signs, 

Dat  °some0day  |  (\)  we  be  free  ; 
( — )  De  nori'  wind  tell  it  to  de  pines, 

De  wild  duck  |  to  de  sea. 
We  tink  it  |  when  de  church  bells  ring, 

We  ( \ )  dream  it  |  0in  de  dream  ; 
De  °rice-bird  |  (/)  mean  it  when  he  sing, 

De  eagle  |  when  he  scream. — Chorus. 

We  know  de  promise  nebber  fail 

And  (\)  nebber  lie  de  word; 
So  like  de  'postle's  in  de  jail, 

We  waited  for  de  Lord. 
And  now  |  He  open  ebery  door  ,  ' 

(~-^)  An'  °trow  away  de  key  ; 
He  tink  we  lub  Him  so  before, 

We  lub  Him  better  I  free. — Chorus. 


JUBILEE  SONG. 


When  Israel  was  in  Egypt's  land, 

Let  my  people  go  ! 
Oppressed  so  hard  they  could  not  stand, 

Let  my  people  go  ! 

Go  down,  Moses,  way  down  into  Egypt's  land, 
Tell  old  Pharaoh  to  let  my  people  go ! 

Thus  saith  the  Lord,  bold  Moses  said, 

Let  my  people  go ! 
If  not  I'll  smite  your  first-born  dead, 

Let  my  people  go  ! 

G-o  down,  Moses,  etc. 


120 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


EXTRACT  FROM  A  SERMON  ON  LINCOLN. 


BY   REV.  HENRY  WARD   BEECHER. 


Delivered  when  the  catafalque  bearing  the  remains  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  was  en  route  to  Illinois,  April,  1865. 


THE  nation  rises  up 
at  every  stage  of  his 
coming;  cities  and 
states  are  as  pall- 
bearers, |  and  the 
cannon  beats  the 
hours  in  solemn 
progression ;  dead, 
dead,  dead,  he  yet 
speaketh.  Is 
Washington  dead, 
is  Hampden  dead  ? 
Is  any  man  |  that 
ever  was  fit  to  live  | 
dead  ?  Disenthral- 
led from  the  flesh, 
and  risen  to  the 
unobstructed  sphere 
where  passion  never  comes,  he  begins  his  illimitable  work. 
His  life  is  now  grafted  upon  the  Infinite,  |  and  will  be  fruit- 
ful |  as  no  earthly  life  can  be.  Pass  on" !  |  Four  years  ago,  oh, 
Illinois !  |  we  took  from  your  midst  an  untried  man  from 
among  the  people !  Behold,  we  return  him  to  you,  |  a 
mighty  conqueror;  |  not  thine  anymore  |  but  the  nation's; 
not  ours,  but  the  world's.     Give  him  place,  j  oh,  ye  prairies ! 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  121 

In  the  midst  of  this  great  continent  |  his  dust  shall  rest, 
a  sacred  treasure  to  myriads,  |  who  shall  pilgrim  to  that 
shrine  to  kindle  anew  their  patriotism !  Ye  wincls,  that 
move  over  the  mighty  spaces  of  the  west,  chant  his  requie"m ! 
Ye  people,  behold  the  martyr,  whose  drops  of  blood,  like 
so  many  articulate  words,  |  plead  iov  fidelity,  |  for  law},  |  for 
liberty  ! 


Henry  Ward  Beecher,  the  famous  American  preacher,  was  born 
at  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  June  24,  1S13,  and  died  of  cerebral  apo- 
plexy, in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  March  8,  18S7.  He  was  a  man  of  medium 
height  and  full  figure  ;  his  complexion  florid,  his  hair  rather  long,  and 
his  face  clean  shaven  ;  his  eyes,  a  blue-gray,  drooped  in  a  marked 
degree  at  the  outer  angles  ;  and  his  ample,  bow-shaped  mouth  ex- 
pressed great  power  and  determination. 

His  voice  was  mellow  and  full;  a  deep  baritone,  with  a  sort  of 
tremulo  peculiar  to  himself;  a  tremulo  both  indescribable  and  inimi- 
table, but  expressive  of  deep  feeling  and  of  human  sympathy.  His 
inflections  were  American  rather  than  English  in  type,  the  falling 
inflections  predominating.  As  a  speaker  he  was  like  one  inspired. 
His  sentences  flowed  easily,  in  an  unbroken  stream  of  eloquence  ; 
he  never  halted  for  a  word,  or  for  a  better  word.  He  never  appeared 
solicitous  as  to  his  pronunciation,  or  rhetoric,  or  gesture  ;  he  spoke 
right  on  and  on,  as  if  the  mighty  truths,  surging  within  him,  must  be 
born  again  in  other  minds,  then  and  there.  As  if  overwhelmed  with 
the  importance  of  his  convictions,  he  sent  them  forth  in  glowing 
pictures,  by  metaphor,  parable  ami  story,  with  such  power  and  force 
that  they  burned  into  the  very  souls  of  his  hearers  and  became  living 
entities  forever. 

His  manner  was  simple,  and  free  from  the  conceit  and  affectation 
usual  to  speakers  of  marked  popularity.  He  never  said  "  you 
sinners,"  but  "we  sinners;"  and  this  generous,  humane  impulse 
endeared  him  to  a  multitude  of  people  other  than  his  church,  which 
numbered  six  thousand  members.  No  man  of  this  century  was  more 
eloquent,  or  more  universally  beloved  than  was  this  great  reformer 
and  inspired  preacher.  Speak  his  words  with  a  deep  sentiment  of 
patriotism,  and  with  feeling  born  of  sorrow  and  hope — sorrow  for  the 
dead  hero,  and  hope  for  the  nation. 

Dress. — Frock  coat  and  vest  (black),  white  turn  down  collar,  and 
long  gray  hair  brushed  behind  the  ears. 


122 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


A  YISION   OF  WAR. 


BY  ROBERT  INGERSOLL. 


Extract  from  a  speech  delivered  at  the  Soldiers'  Reunion,    Indian- 
apolis, September  21,  1876. 


THE  past  rises  before  me  like  a 
dream.  Again  we  are  in  the 
great  struggle  for  national  life. 
We  hear  the  sounds  of  prepara- 
tion—  the  music  of  boisterous 
drums,  the  silver  notes  of  heroic 
bugles.  We  see  thousands  of 
assemblages,  and  hear  the  ap- 
peal of  orators.  We  see  the  pale 
cheeks  of  the  women,  and  the 
\  flushed  faces  of  the  men  ;  and 
in  these  assemblages  we  see  all 
the  dead  whose  dust  we  have 
covered  with  flowers.  We  lose 
sight  of  them  no  more. 
We  are  with  them  when  they  enlist  in  the  great  army  of 
freedom.  We  see  them  part  with  those  they  love.  Some 
are  walking  for  the  last  time  in  quiet  woody  places,  with 
maidens  they  adore,  to  hear  the  whisperings  and  the  sweet 
vows  of  eternal  love  as  they  lingeringly  part  forever.  Others 
are  bending  over  cradles,  kissing  babes  that  are  asleep. 
Some  are  receiving  the  blessings  of  old  men.  Some  are 
parting  with  mothers',  who  hold  them  and  press  them  to 
their  hearts,  again  and  again,  ||  and  say  nothing.  Kisses 
and  tears  and  kisses.     Divine  mingling  of  agony  and  love. 


IMPERSONA  TJONS.  1  23 

And  some  |  are  talking  with  wives  and  endeavoring  with 
brave  words,  spoken  in  the  old  tones,  to  drive  from  their 
hearts  the  awful  fear.  We  see  them  part.  We  see  the  wife 
standing  in  the  door  with  the  babe  in  her  arms,  standing 
in  the  sunlight  sobbing;  at  the  turn  of  the  road  a  hand 
waves,  she  answers  by  holding  high  in  her  living  arms  the 
child — and  he  is  gdne  |  forever. 

We  see  them  all  as  they  march  proudly  away,  under  the 
flaunting  flags,  keeping  time  to  the  grand  wild  music  of 
war,  marching  down  the  streets  of  the  great  cities,  through 
the  towns  and  across  the  prairies,  down  to  the  fields  of  glory, 
to  do  and  to  die  for  the  "  eternal  right."  We  go  with  them, 
one  and"all ;  we  are  by  their  side  on  all  the  gory  fields,  in 
all  the  hospitals  of  pain,  on  all  the  weary  marches ;  we 
stand  guard  with  them  in  the  wild  storm  and  under  the 
quiet  stars ;  we  are  with  them  in  ravines  running  with 
blood ;  and  in  the  furrows  of  old  fields.  We  are  with  them 
between  contending  hosts,  unable  to  move,  wild  with  thirst, 
the  life  ebbing  slowly  away  among  the  withered  leaves. 
We  see  them  pierced  by  balls  and  torn  with  shells,  in  the 
breaches,  by  forts,  and  in  the  whirlwind  of  the  charge 
where  men  become  iron  with  nerves  of  steel  We  are  with 
them  in  the  prisons  of  hatred  and  famine,  but  human  speech 
can  never  tell  what  they  endured.  We  are  at  home  when 
the  news  comes  that  they  are  dead.  We  see  the  maiden  in 
the  shadow  of  her  first  sorrow  ;  we  see  the  silver  head  of 
the  old  man  bowed  with  his  last  grief. 

The  past  rises  before  us,  and  we  see  four  millions  of 
human  beings  governed  by  the  lash ;  we  see  them  bound 
hand  and  foot,  we  hear  the  stroke  of  cruel  whips,  and  we 
see  the  hounds  tracking  women  through  tangled  swamps ; 
we  see  babes  sold  from  the  breasts  of  mothers;  cruelty 
unspeakable,  outrage  infinite  !  Four  million  bodies  in 
chains ;  four  million  souls  in  fetters.  All  the  sacred  rela- 
tions of  wife",  mother,  father,  child,  trampled  beneath  the 


124  HELEN  POTTERS 

brutal  feet  of  Might ;  and  all  this  was  done  under  our  own 
beautiful  banner  of  the  free. 

The  past  rises  before  us,  and  we  hear  the  war,  the  shriek 
of  bursting  shell,  the  broken  fetters  fall.  These  heroes  died. 
We  look :  instead  of  slaves  we  see  men.  and  women  and 
children.  The  wand  of  progress  touches  the  auction-block, 
the  slave-pen,  the  whipping-post,  and  we  see  homes,  and 
firesides,  and  school-houses,  and  books ;  and  where  all  was 
want,  and  crime,  and  cruelty,  and  fear,  we  see  the  faces  of 
the  FREE. 

The  heroes  are  dead.  They  died  for  liberty';  they  died 
for  us  ;  they  are  at  rest.  They  sleep  in  the  land  they  made 
free ;  under  the  flag  they  rendered  stainless ;  under  the 
solemn  pines,  the  sad  hemlock's,  the  tearful  willows,  and 
the  embracing  vines.  They  sleep  beneath  the  shadows  of 
the  clouds,  careless  alike  of  sunshine  or  of  storm,  each  in 
the  windowless  palace  of  rest.  Earth  may  run  red  with 
other  wars,  they  are  at  peace.  In  the  midst  of  battle,  in 
the  roar  of  conflict,  they  found  the  serenity  of  death.  I 
have  one  sentiment  for  soldiers  living  and  deaTd, 
"  Cheers  for  the  livifig,  tears  for  the  dead!" 

A  Series  of  Tableaux  Suggesting  Others. 

This  wonderful  specimen  of  eloquence  is  capable  of  a  great  number 
of  powerful  tableaux,  picturing  the  horrors  of  war  and  the  grateful 
blessing  of  arbitration  and  peace. 

(1)  "  Farewell !  "—the  lovers  ;  (2)  "  Good-bye  !  "—wife  and  babes; 
(3)  "  The  Silent  Parting," — parents  and  sons ;  (4)  "  The  Departure," — 
raw  rec7*uits  ;  (5)  "  Before  the  Battle," — in  line  ;  (6)  "After  the  Battle," 
— the  retreat;  (7)  "Stretchers  and  Lanterns," — the  hospital;  (8) 
"  Hungry  and  Naked," — the  prison  ;  (9)  "Alone  by  the  Forest," — the 
picket ;  (10)  "  News  at  Home,"— reading  the  lists  ;  (11)  "  The  War  is 
Over," — the  regiment's  return  ;  (12)  "Decoration  Day." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  125 


CASSIUS  TO  BRUTUS. 


From  "Julius  CiESAR."' — Shakespeare. 


A    STUDY    OF    LAWRENCE    BARRETT. 


Argument. — Cassius,  instigator  of  the  conspiracy  against  JuliusCsesar, 
incites  Brutus  to  the  assassination  of  the  emperor  by  such  argu- 
ments as  are  found  in  the  text  below  ;  the  avowed  purpose  being  to 
freedom,  and  a  betier  condition  of  the  people. 


Act  I.,  Scene  II. 
Cassius.  (')Well,  °hon0or  |  is  the  subject  |  of  my  ( 2 )  sto-ry. 
I  cannot  |  tell  what  you  |  and  (\)°other  men  | 
(/)  Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  |  for  my  single  °self, 
0I  had  as  lief  not  °6e?  |  Qas  live  to  be 
In  awe  |  of  such  a  thing  |  as  I  |  omy0self. 
( — )  I  was  Oborn  |  as  0free  as  °Cae0sar ;  |  Oso  were  °you : 
( — )  We  both  have  °fed  0as  well ;  |  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  (*.)  °cold,  ||  0as  well  |  as  he":  || 
(/)  For  once,  |  upon  a  raw  |  and  gusty  day,  | 
(stac.)  The  troubled  Tyber  |  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  me,  ( — )  "  °Dar'st  thou,  Cassius,  |  now, 
Leap  in  j  with  me  |  into  this  angry  flood,  | 
And  swim  |  to  yonder  point  ?  "  (-  -)  °Upon  the  word 
0Ac  (\)  °coutred  as  I  °was,  |  I  °plung0ed  ih7  | 
(/)  And  bade  him  |  Ofol/Olow :  (/)0So,  indeed,  |  °he  did. 
The  torrent  rroafed ;   and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lus-ty  sin-news,  |  (-  -)  throwing  it  aside  | 
And  stemming  it  |  with  hearts  of  (\)  °con  [  troversy. 

(  ' )  All  through  the  text  run  sweeping  inflections,  up  or  down,  wherever 
indicated  and  hold  the  "  I." 

(a) i  A  crescendo  over  a  syllable  with  a  hyphen  after  it  means  to  hold  that 
syllable,  and  speak  the  next  quickly. 

( 3 )  An  octave.    * 


126  HELEN  PO  7  IE  I?  S 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  |  the  point  proposed, 

Caesar  cried  :  (4)  "  Help  vie,  Caustics,  \  or  I  °smk." 

I  |  as  iEne-as,  |  our  great  (\)  °ancestor,  | 

Did  |  from  the  flames  of  Troy,  |  upon  his  shoulder  | 

(/)  The  old  Anchises  °bear,  (--)  so,  |  from  the  waves  of 

Ty-ber,  | 
(--)  Did  I  |  0this  |  ° tired  ||  °Cte0sai'.     And  °this  0man  | 
Is  Oiiow?o  |  become  a  °god;  and  Cassius  |  is 
A  (\)°wretched  creature,  |  and  must  bend  his  °bod0yy  | 
If  °Cas0s"arr  j  carelessly  but  (\)  °nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  (\)  °fever  |  ( — )  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And  whenn  the  lit  was  0on  °him  |  I  did  mark  | 
(/)  How  he  did  °shaSe':  |  'tis  true,  \  {/)  this    god  |  did 

shake ; 
{gut.)  His  coward  lips  |  did  |  from  their  (\)  °col0or  0fiy  ;  | 
And  that   same  °eye  [j  whose    bermd   doth   awe  (/)   the 

worUd,  | 
(/)  Did  lose  his  0lusotre:  ||  1  did  hear  him  °groanw. 
°Ay,    |    and    that   (\)    °to?^ue    of   his,   |   that   bade    the 

Romans 
(\  )°Mark  him  |  ( — )  and  write  his  speeches  |  in  their  books, 
°Alas,  |  it  cried  |  (b)  "  °&ive  me  some  °  drink  (\)  Titinius  !  " 

(M!)(«)        ^  <  \       _ 

(/)  As  a  sick  °girrl/.     Ye  gods  |  it  doth  0a°maze  0me,  || 
A  maim  of  such  a  (\)  °feeble  °temperr  |  should 
So  (\)  °get  the  start  |  of  the  oma°jes0tic  0worUd  |  (') 
( — )  0And  bear  the  palm  |  0a°lone.  (°) 
[Halt  from  angry  pacing,  and  speak  to  Brutus,  with  voice  of 

argument.'] 
Why,  maim  |  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  worlZd  | 
(/)  Like  a  co°los0sus  ;  |  and  we,  petty  merm,  \ 


(*)  High,  light  voice. 
(  5)  High,  light  voice. 

(  6  )  "  Hi ;  "  add  this  exclamation  of  disgust,  hut  do  not  inspire  from  "Alas  " 
to  "  girl,"  as  a  break  of  a  second  even  spoils  the  effect. 
(  7  )  Run  up  an  octave  on  "  world,"  holding  the  "  1."  . 

( 8  )  Pace  up  and  down. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  VL1 

(_  _)  Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  |  and  peep  a°bout,  | 
(/)  To  find  oursel/ves  |  Odis°honworable  |  0graves. 
[Approach  close  to  Brutus,  and,  with  toga  wrapped  across  to 

opposite  shoulder,  speak  confidentially  backward  to  him.] 
0Men-w  |  at  som?/2ethmue  |  0are  mas-ters  |  of  their  fates : 
The  °fault,  |  dear  Bru-tus,  |  is  (/)0not  in  our  °stars,  |  (") 
0But  in  Oour°selves,  ( 10 )  II  0that  we  are  underlings. 
°Brutus  |  and  0Ca3sar :  |  0What  should  be  in  that  |  °Caesar  ? 
Why   should  °that  0name  \  {/)   be   sounded  |  more   than 

°yours  ? 
0Write  them  to°gether,  |  Oyours  is  as  fair  a  (/)  name : 
°Sound  them,  |  (/)  it  doth  become  the  mouth  |  0as  well; 
(  "  )° Weigh  them,  [  °it  is  as  0heav°y';  "conjure  with  them,  | 
( 1S)  0Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  |  (/)  as  soon  as  °Cae0saf. 
{gut.)  Nowro,  [  in  the  name  of  °all  the  gods  at  once,  | 
{gut.)  °Upon  what  °meat  \\  doth  this  our  °Caesar  0feed, 
0That   he   is   grown  |  so  |  great?   ||  (")  °Age,  |  Othou   art 

shamed ; 
(M)°R6m^e,  [  (/)0thou  hast  lost  the  °breed  |  Oof  °no0ble 

Obloods  ! 
(/)  When  went   there   by  an  age,  [  (/)  since  the  great 

flood,  | 
0But  it  was  fammed  |  with  more  than  with  °onne  0man  ! 
"Wheiiw    |    could    they   say    till  °now,    |    that   talked  of 

°  Rom  we,    . 
(15)    0That    her    wide    walks    enwcompassed    but    °<mne 

man  ? 
( — -^- )  Oh  !  you  and  I  |  have  heard  our  fathers  0say,  | 
{/)  There  was   a   Brutus   once,  \  (^w^)°that  would  have 

brooked 

( 9 )  Hand  to  the  sky. 

( 10  )  Strike  the  breast  on  "  selves." 

(  M  )  Balance  with  the  hands. 

(12)  R.  II.  V.  descend  oblique. 

( 13 )  R.  II.  aloft,  descend  on  "  shamed." 

( 14  )  B   H   horizontal  oblique,  palms  up     Reverse  palms  at  "  lost,"  and  move 
to  H.;  ex.  on  "  breed." 
(I5)  B.  II.  extended  ;  change  R.  H.  front,  L.  H.  to  bosom,  or  oa  sword  hilt. 


128  HELEN  POTTER'S 

The  eternal  °°dev-il  jj  °°to  keep  his  state  in  Romwie  J 
0As00eas0i0ly||0asa'00ki^!(ia) 

[Exit.] 

( 16  )  R.  H.  aloft  on  "  devil  "  (clinched  hand),  bring  it  down  on  "  easily,"  and 
push  it  from  you  (with  palm  vertical)  on  "  king."  March  on"  with  long  strides, 
in  a  state  of  intense  excitement. 

Note. — Where  extra  "l's,"  "m's,"  etc.,  are  added,  and  printed  in  italics,  hold 
them  long  enough  to  sound  them  separately,  although  they  are  produced  ac 
one  continuous  sound. 


Lawrence  Barrett,  an  American  actor  of  well-deserved  popularity, 
was  born  in  Paterson,  New  Jersey,  April  4,  1838.  He  is  to  Cassius 
what  Edwin  Booth  is  to  Hamlet,  an  ideal.  It  is  a  question  whether 
they  ever  have  been  or  ever  can  be  surpassed.  Entirely  devoted  to 
his  profession,  he  has  won  his  way,  not  at  abound,  but  by  steady,  per- 
sistent effort,  to  the  high  position  he  now  occupies.  Industrious,  stu- 
dious, conscientious  and  reliable,  he  is  esteemed  equally  as  a  man 
and  as  an  artist.' 

His  manner  on  the  stage  is  dignified  and  forceful,  perhaps  severe, 
but,  strictly  speaking,  hardly  graceful ;  a  superior,  intelligent  Ro- 
man, but  never  a  Greek.  Helmet  and  shield  are  borne  by  him  as  if 
he  had  been  bred  and  nurtured  in  the  old  days  of  Roman  glory  ;  as 
if  he  would  rather  sleep  on  his  sword  in  camp,  than  at  home  in  bed  ; 
hence  his  Cassius  is  superb.  Pride,  ambition  and  scorn  ever  clank  in 
his  mailed  tread.  When  he  plants  his  feet  and  sways  from  side  to 
side,  in  an  ague  of  excitement,  you  are  sure,  if  near  enough,  you 
could  feel  his  burning  breath  hot  upon  your  cheek. 

His  peculiarities  are  :  Holding  final  consonants ;  marked,  sudden 
transitions  in  pitch,  as  indicated  in  the  text ;  and  carrying  long-  pas- 
sages without  pausing  to  breathe.  The  latter  feature  adds  greatly  to 
the  intensity  of  his  climaxes,  and  gives  the  appearance  of  choleric 
passion. 

Costume. — A  Roman  toga,  white,  with  red  bordef,  reaching  to  the 
feet ;  sandal-boots  which  lace  up  in  front,  leaving  the  toes  free  [see 
chapter  on  Foot-Gear]  ;  a  wig  of  short,  crisp  gray  hair,  and  no  beard 
whatever.  The  make-up  calls  for  deep-set  eyes,  hollow  cheeks  and 
pale  face.  To  produce  the  effect  of  the  "  lean  and  hungry  look  " 
attributed  to  him  by  Caesar,  whiten  the  forehead  or,  with  flesh-colored 
wig-paint,  blend  on  the  wig  across  the  middle  of  the  forehead  ;  whiten 
the  cheek-bones  and  the  edge  of  the  jaw  ;  lay  a  shadow  of  brown 
about  the  eyes,  in  the  hollows  of  the  cheeks,  and  down  the  cords  of 
the  bare  neck.  If  the  arms  are  round  and  fair,  follow  and  outline 
the  muscles,  leaving  the  swell  white  or  light  in  color,  like  the  fore- 
head. Some  complexions  are  dark  enough  for  the  shadows,  and  only 
need  the  high  lights,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  face  clean. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  129 


BRUTUS'S  ADDRESS. 


From  "Julius  Cjesak."— Shakespeare. 


A    STUDY    OF    E.   L.  DAVENPORT. 


Argument. — Marcus  Brutus  is  a  Roman  conspirator.  Having1  slain 
Caesar  as,  in  the  cause  ( f  freedom,  he  believed  to  be  right,  Brutus 
appeal's  before  the  excited  multitude  to  justify  the  act  and  appease 
their  wrath. 


Act  III.,  Scene  II. — The  Forum,  after  the  death  of  Caesar. 
Brutus.  Romans,  |  countrymen,  |  and  lovers!  [|  (\)°heav 
me  |  Ofor   my  °caiise,  0and,  °°be   silent,  ||  that  0you  °may 
0hear.  ||   Believe  me  for  mine  °honor;  and.  have  0re°spect  to 
(/)  0mine  honor,  |  that  you  may  obe0lieve.  ||  Censure  me  in 
your  °wisdom;  |  and  awake  (/)  your  °senses,  [  0that  you 
may   the  °better   |    Judge.  ( — )  If  there   be    any   in   this 
assembly,  |  any  dear  frieTul  of  Caesar's,  |  Oto  °him  GI  say,  | 
(/)0that   Brutus'  love  to   Caesar  |  was   no  less  |  than  his. 
(\)°If,  then,  |  that    friend    demand  |    (--)   °why   Brutus 
rose  against  Caesar,  |  0this  |  is  my  answer,  |  (\)  °Not  that  I 
loved  |    °Cae0sar  °less,  |  0but  that  I   loved  (/)  Rome  |  (\) 
°more.  ( — )  0Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  (/)0liv°ing,  |  and 
die  all  slaves,  |  (--)  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  |  (/)  to 
0live  (\)  °all  |  0free  °men  ?     ( ] )  0As  Caesar  loved  °me,  |  0I 
°weep   Ofor   him;   (a)  as   he  was(/)  Ofortunate,  |  (--)  0I 
rejoice  at  it;  (3)  as  he  was  valiant,  |  0I  °honor  him":  0but,  | 
°as  he    was    Oam°bi0tious,  [  (--)  0I   slew  him.      There  is 
tears  [  for  his  love;  °joy  |  Ofor  his  (/)  fortune;  °°honor  | 
Ofor   his   °°valor;  0and  0odeath,   |   (--)  for   his   ambition. 

( ',  2,  3 )  Begin  low,  and  make  each  sentence  higher  than  the  one  before. 


1,30  HELEN  POTTERS 

(\)Who  is  here  so  base,  |  that  would  be  a  ( \ )  °bond0nian  ? 
If  ally  |  speak;  |  for  (/)  0him,  |  have  I  Oof°fend0ed. 
( — )  Who  is  here  so  rtfde,  |  (/)  that  would  not  be  |  0a  (\) 
"Roman?  °If  (/)  0any,  |  speak;  |  0for  °him  |  (--)  0have  I 
offended.  (\)  °Who  is  here  so  vile  (4)  |  that  will  not  (\) 
°love  his  country  ?  °If  any,  |  0speak ',  ( — )  for  him  |  have  I 
(\)  °offended.  j|    0I  °pause  |  Ofor  a  reply. 

(4  )  Hold  "  1 "  and  run  up  the  scale  in  tremor,  or  tremulous  voice. 


Edward  Loomis  Davenport,  an  American  actor  of  marked  ability 
was  born  in  Boston,  Nov.  15,  1814,  and  died  at  Canton,  Pa.,  Sept.  1, 
1S77.  Some  one  has  said :  •'  Had  he  not  been  so  good,  he  had  been  a 
great  actor,"  for  he  did  many  things  so  admirably,  that  he  identified 
himself  with  none.  He  is  known  as  the  finest  Brutus  of  the  century  ; 
and  required  little  more  than  toga  and  sandals  to  transform  him  into 
a  veritable  Roman  senator  of  the  olden  time.  Sober  and  thoughtful, 
he  carried  himself  with  dignity  and  grace  ;  and,  best  of  all,  he  was 
never  guilty  of  that  common  yet  unpardonable  fault  of  playing  to  the 
audience.  He  confined  himself  to  the  stage  and  to  the  people  on  the 
stage,  as  all  great  actors  do. 

To  copy  his  Brutus  you  must  walk  well ;  take  long,  measured  steps, 
and  never  hurry,  or  become  excited.  That  becomes  Cassius,  but  not 
Brutus.  Keep  before  you  the  object  he  had  in  addressing  the  people, 
viz.,  to  reconcile  them  to  the  death  of  Caesar.  Be  earnest,  concilia- 
tory, and  at  the  same  time  argumentative  in  tone  and  manner. 

Costume  — (See  Cassius,  page  128  )  A  Roman  toga,  sandals  and 
sword,  and  short  dark  hair. 


Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home  ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given ; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ? 


IMPERSONATIONS.  131 

RUSSIAN  SOLDIER,   REST!* 


BY  ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE. 


There  was  a  Russian  |  came  over  the  sea, 
Just  when  the  war  was  raging  hot, 
And  his  name  it  was  j  (')  "  Tja-lik-ii-vak'-a-ree — 
Kar-in-d5-br61'-i-kaun-ahn'-da-r6t — 
Shib'-ka-di-ro-va — 
2 )  Iv'-ilr-ditz-sto-va — 
San-a-lik — 
Dan-er-Ik — 
Var-a-gob-hSt." 

A  Turk  |  was  standing  upon  the  shore  | 
Right  where  the  terrible  Russian  crossed ; 
And  he  cried,  |  "  Bis-mil'liih  !     I'm  Ab  El  Kor— 
Baz'-a-rou-kil'-go-nau-tos'-go-bross — 
Get'  -f  in-pr  a-vii'-di — 
Kl'i'-ge-kos-lad'-ji — 
Gri-v'f-nd — 
Bli-vi'-do— 
Jen'-i-ko-dosk' !  " 

Jo  they  stood,  |  like  brave  men,  |  long  |  and  well ;  | 
And  they  called  each  other  ||  their  proper  names, 
Till  the  lockjaw  |  seized  them,  ]  and  where  they  fell, 
They   buried  them  |  both ;   |  by   the   river,   the   beautiful 
river ;  the  "  Ir-dosh-o-la'-mes — 
Ka-la-ta-lust-chuk — 
Misch-tar-i'-bust-up — 
Bul-gar-i' — 
Dul-bar-i* — 
Saghhar-im-ainz." 

*  Recite  it  g;libly,  but  not  too  fast. 
( i )  "  Tja  "  is  pronounced  "yah." 
(  2  )  "  iv  "  is  pronounced  "eev." 


132 


HELEN  POTTERS 


QUEER  ELIZABETH. 


A   STUDY    OF    MME.  ADELAIDE    RISTORI. 


Argument. — Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,  was  haughty  and  impe- 
rious. She  loved  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  gave  him  a  ring,  saying: 
"  Here,  from  my  finger  take  this  ring,  a  pledge  of  mercy  ;  and 
whensoever  you  send  it  back,  I  swear  that  I  will  grant  whatever 
boon  you  ask."  She  afterward  was  induced  by  his  enemies  to  sign 
his  death  warrant,  expecting  to  reprieve  him  upon  the  return  of 
the  ring.  It  was  intercepted,  until  too  late  to  save  him.  Her 
couriers  rode  in  vain,  whereupon  she  fell  into  a  frenzy  of  rage, 
grief,  and  remorse,  and,  driving  every  one  from  her  presence,  gave 
herself  up  to  the  darkest  despair. 


(p.)  ( ' )  Mor£o !    ma  prima  che   tramonti  il  sole 

Mor'to !        ma     pre'ma       ka       tra  mon'te"      el     so'la 


tuonera   un   altra   volta 

twon'a  ra      uri      al'tra     vol'ta 


il   bronzo   fatale. 

el      bron'zo      fa  lal'a. 


[Revengefully.]  Io   ho   bisogno   d'avere  |  fra   le   mani  |  la 

eo      o       be  zon'yo      da  va'ra         fra     la     ma'ne        la 

testa    del    Duca    di    Nottingam. 

tas'ta,      (161        Dii'ca      de        Not'ting  ham. 

(p.)  Roberto    non    a    piu !     II    solo    uomo    che 

R5  ber'to        non      a,      peoo !       el      sS'lo      wo'rao        ka 

[Tremulously.]  ho  veramente  amato,  |  [weeps]  e  sono  io  |  che 

5  va  rah  man'ta    ama'to,  a  so'no    eo       ka 

i'uccisi.    [Remorsefully.]    E    nessuno    ha    detta    una 

lii  ohe'se.  a,       nas  sli'no        a        dat'ta       una 

parola    per     calmarmi,     |    tntti     l'odiavano. 

paro'la        per         kal  mar' me,  tiit'te         15  <le  av'ii  no. 

[Proudly.]    E     non     era     degno     nessuno     di     baciare 

a,        non        e'ra       dan'yo         nas  sii'no      de      ba  die  a'ra 

(M  The  pronunciation  of  the  Italian  text,  as  nearly  as  possible,  is  given  in 
alternate  lines,  and  smaller  type  Trill  the  r  s,  and  give  double  time  to  double 
consonants,  as  "  ca  val'lo,"  "tut'ti." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  133 

la    polvere     sollevata    del     suo    cavallo    in 

lfi,       pol'va  ra       so  IS  va'ta,        dSl        siio       ca,  val'lo       en 

un    giomo       di    battaglia.     [To  Bacon.] 

tin       ge  Sr'no  (  2  )  de         bat  tal'yii. 

[Scornfully.]  Et  tu,  |  vile,  |  miserabile,  |  tu  eri  un  nulla,  | 

a,     too,       vela,        me  sa  ra'be  la,        til  a're  tin     ntll'la, 

e     il     devi     solo     a     Roberto,  |  se     sei     divenuto 

a      61        da've      so'lo        a       Iio  ber'to,       sa       sae       de  va,  nli'to 

qualche    cosa,  |  a     lui     devi    gli     onori     di    cui 

kwal'ku.        co'sa,       ii      lwe       da've       lee       o  no're      de      kwe 

ti    ho     colmato.     Egli     che     generoso    ti    ha    redento 

te        o         kol  ma'to.         a'le  ka         gen  er  o'so      te        a         ra  dan'to 

alia     vergogna     de     tuoi     debiti,  |  dovera     contare 

ai'lfi        var  gon'ya         da       twoe      diL'be  te,       do  va/ra       kon  ta'ra 

su    te,  |  e     tu    non     Thai     difeso.      Era     tuo 

800      ta,       a,      too       non         la,  e         de  fa'z5.        a'rii       two 

sacro     dovere     disputar     la     di     lui     vita     anche 

sa'kro       do  va'ra        des'pootar       lii        de      lwe       ve'ta,        an'ka 

contro     di    me,  \  si     contro     di    me.     Ricordarmi 

kon'tro       de       ma,        se       kon'tro        de        ma.         re  kor  dar'me 

l'lrlanda     da    lui     sottomessa,     Cadice     con- 

leer  lan'da         da.      lwe        sot  to  mas'sa,        ka'de  cha      kon- 

quistata    in     mezzo     alle     fiamme.     Dovevi 

kwes  ta'ta.      en  .      mat'zS        al'la        fe  am'ma.        do  va've 

squarciare     la     sua      corazza,  |  contare     le     sue 

sqwar  che  a'ra      lii       swa         kor  at'zii,         kon  ta'ra       la      swa 

ferife,  |  offrirmele     a    riscattb     della     di    lui 

fa  re'ta,        offrer'niii  la       ii       res  kat'to       dal'la,        de      lwe 

colpa,  |  dovevi     lottare     contro     me,  |  si     contro 

kol'pa,        do  va've       lot  ta'ra        kon'tro       ma,        se       kon  tro 
(2)  "G"  as  in  "go." 


134  HELEN  POTTER'S 

m%  j  per    il     bene     dell'     Inghilteffa. 

ma   par   el   baua   dal    eeug  eel  tar'ra. 

Ma    1u  j  preferisti     guidare     la    mano     dei 

ma       too      pra  far  est'e        gvve  da'ra       la        mii'no        dae 

giudici     quando     sottoscrissefo,  [  e     la   °mia 

jew'de  che       kwan'do       sot  to  scres'sa  ro,     a       Iti       mefi 

quando     confermai  |  la     fatale     senteiiza. 

kwan'do        kon  far  mii/e     la       fii  tii'la,        sau  tan'za. 

Oh !   che     tu     sia     maledetto !  |  ( 3)  al     pari     di     Cainb. 

o !         ka        too      sea         mal  a  dat'to !  iil       pii're       de       ka  e'no. 

[Disgustedly.]  °Vattene !  |  °°Vattene!  ||  tu   mi     fai     orrore  ! 

vat'ta  na !  viit'ta  na !        too       me       fae        or  ro'ra 

[Proudly.]   °UsclEe!  |j   Uscite     tilth!  ||  D.Lo  vogUo!  \\ 

oo  she'ta !      oo  she'ta !     toot'te  15      vol'yo ! 

[Points  to  the  door  until  they  all  pass  out.] 
[Remorsefully.]  Sola!  Sola!  (\)in  un  [horror]  lagodi  sangue! 

sola!    sd  la, !  en  oon  Itl'go  de   san'gvva! 

[  With  grief.]   O8ola !    °Sola !    Ocoi     reniorsi,      e     con     Dio ! 

so'la !        s5'la !        kc  e      ra  mor'se,        a        kou       De'o ! 

[Falls  upon  her  knees  sobbing.] 


TRANSLATION. 


Burleigh.  He  is  no  more  ! 

Elizabeth.  Dead  !  dead !  but  before  the  sun  sets  the 
fatal  bronze  shall  tell  once  more.  I  must  grasp  within 
mine  own  hands  the  head  of  the  Duke  of  Nottingham  ! 
Robert  is  no  more  !  The  only  man  I  ever  really  loved — 
and  I  have  killed  him  !  No  one  said  one  word  to  appease 
ray  wrath — they  all  hated  him.  And  yet  not  one  of 
them  was  worthy  to  kiss  the  dust  raised  by  his  charger's 
hoofs  on  a  day  of  battle.  [To  Bacon.]  And  you,  vile,  mis- 
erable wretch,  you  who  owe  all  the  advantages  you  enjoy 

( 3 )  Miil  a  dat'to;  repeat  the  word  twice. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  135 

to  his  kindness  and  generosity — nay  even  the  honors  i" 
have  conferred  upon  you  came  through  his  influence.  Had 
he  not,  therefore,  a  sacred  claim  upon  you  for  assistance  in 
the  hour  of  trial  ?  It  was  his  hand  that  snatched  you  out 
of  the  vortex  of  degradation  and  misery  into  which  your 
debts  had  dragged  you.  It  was  your  duty  to  have  opposed 
my  sovereign  will;  yes,  my  will,  to  save  his  life.  You 
should  have  reminded  .me  of  Ireland  subjugated  by  him  ; 
of  the  conquest  of  Cadiz,  and  its  conflagration.  You  should 
have  torn  off  his  breastplate  and  counted  his  wounds  one 
by  one,  and  offered  them  as  ransoms,  each  a  trophy  of  his 
glorious  deeds,  and  a  demand  upon  my  clemency.  You 
should  have  disputed  my  authority —-anything  —  rather 
than  sacrifice  a  life  so  valuable  to  the  welfare  of  England. 
But  no  !  You  chose  rather  to  guide  the  hand  that  signed 
that  fatal  death-warrant — and — mine  sealed  it.  May  the 
curse  of  Cain  be  upon  you  !  Begone  !  Out  of  my  sight ! 
Begone,  every  one  of  you  !  I  command  it !  [All  retire.] 
Alone,  alone,  in  a  lake  of  blood ! 

Alone  with  my  remorse  and  my  God.  [Falls  upon  her 
knees  in  great  agitation.] 

Adelaide  Ristoui,  the  world-renowned  Italian  actress,  was  born  in 
1826,  in  the  small  Venetian  city  of  Cividale  del  Friuli.  Her  parents, 
Antonio  Ristori  and  Maddelena  Poinatelli.  were  players  in  a  strolling- 
company,  and  very  poor.  The  child  was  brought  npnn  the  stage  in 
a  basket,  when  she  was  only  two  months  old,  and  began  to  enact 
juvenile  parts  when  four  years  old.  From  this  early  beginning  she 
won  her  way  to  the  zenith  of  earthly  fame,  and  glory  ;  and  amidst  a 
race  of  artists  long  descended,  and  a  people  hypercritical  in  matters 
of  art,  she  stands  to-day  without  a  peer,  the  greatest  living  actress, 
the  queen  of  tragedy. 

In  appearance,  she  is  of  medium  size,  well  rounded  figure,  and  still 
beautiful.  Her  expression  is  noble,  her  action  natural,  and  the  spec- 
tator is  swept  along  in  full  sympathy  with  her,  in  every  phase  of  joy 
and  sorrow,  hope  and  despair. 

Costume. — A  robe  of  rich  brocaded  silk  ;  a  full,  long,  plain  skirt, 
worn  over  hoops ;  a  bodice  pointed  front  and  back,  the  top  of  the 
bodice  made  of  pale  pink  satin,  and  surmounted  by  a  large  frill,  then 
in  vogue,  and  since  well  known  as  the  Elizabethan  collar  ;  a  gii"dle 
with  a  chain  or  pendant  hanging  to  the  feet,  set  with  precious  stones  ; 
a  head-dress  of  pearls,  over  a  light  auburn  wig,  and  slippers  to 
match  the  dress. 

Rendition. — Breathe  fast  and  heavy ;  voice  sometimes  aspirate, 
sometimes  half  guttural ;  hand  to  the  heart,  eyes  wide  open,  and  now 
and  then  turned  upward  in  the  sockets. 


136  HELEN  POTTERS 


MARY  STUART. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  ANDRE  MAFFEI. 


Act  III.,  Scene  IV.— Park  at  Fotheringay.     [Enter  Mar> ,  sister  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  speaking  to  herself.] 

Mary.  Be  it  so  !  I  will  even  undergo  this  last  degree  of 
ignominy  !  My  soul  discards  its  noble,  but,  alas,  impotent 
pride  !  I  will  seek  to  forget  who  1  am,  and  what  |  I  have  suf- 
fered, |  and  will  humble  myself  before  °her  |  Owho  has  caused 
my  disgrace.  [Turn  to  Eliz.,  step  forward,  and  hold  out  both 
hands  beseechingly.] 

(~-~)  °Heaven,  (/)oh,  sister,  has  declared  itself  on  °thy 
0sicTe",  and  has  graced  thy  happy  head  \  {/)  with  the  crown 
of  °victory.  I  worship  the  Deity  |  [kneeling]  who  hath 
rendered  thee  |  ( \ )  so  powerful ;  °but  show  thyself  great  | 
0and  °noble  0in  thy  triumph,  and  (\)  leave  me  |  not  |  over- 
whelmed by  my  shame  !  [Reach  out  both  hands.]  Open 
thy  arms — extend  in  mercy  to  me  |  thy  royal  hand — and 
raise  me  |  from  my  fearful  fall ! 

Voice.  Thy  place,  oh,  Stuart,  is  there  !   at  my  feet ! 

Mary  [with  increased  emotion  and  wringing  the  hands]. 
(^)  °Oh,  think  on  the  vicissitudes  of  (\)  °all  things 
human !  0There  is  a  God  above  who  punisheth  pride ! 
°Respect  0oh,  Queen,  the  Providence  who  now  doth  prostrate 
me  |  at  thy  feet !  [Shoidders  and  eyes  upward,  hands  clasped 
to  heart]  (^ — )  °Oh,  God  of  Heaven  !  (— )  (g.)  °Do  not 
show  thyself  insensible  and  pitiless  as  the  rock  to  which 
the  drowning  man,  with  failing  breath  and  outstretched 
arms,  endeavors  to  cling !  [Lean  forward,  swaying  in 
circles.]  My  life,  my  entire  destiny,  defend  upon  my  words 
0and  the  power  of  my  tears !  Inspire  my  heart — (\)  teach 


IMPERSONATIONS.  137 

me  to  move,  |  to  touch  thine  own  !  [Shrink  bach  and  shiver. 
Voice  tremulous  and  full  of  tears.']  Thou  turnest  such  icy 
looks  upon  me,  that  my  soul  doth  sink  within  me;  my 
grief  parches  my  lips,  and  a  cold  shudder  renders  my  en- 
treaties mute.     [Rises.] 

Voice  [haughtily  and  coldly].     What  |  wouldst   thou  (\) 
say  to  me  ? 

Mary.  How  can  I  express  myself,  |  how  shall  I  so  choose 
my  °every  word  that  it  may  penetrate,  without  irritating 
thy  heart  ?  Aid  Thou  my  lips,  oh,  God  of  mercy,  and  banish 
from  them  everything  that  may  offend  my  sister  !  I  cannot 
relate  to  thee  my  woes,  without  appearing  |  to  accuse  thee,  \ 
and  this  is  not  my  wish.  Toward  me  [  thou  hast  been 
neither  merciful  |  nor  just.  I  am  thine  °equal,  |  and  yet 
thou  hast  made  a  (\)  prisoner  of  me !  A  suppliant  and  a 
fugitive  |  I  turned  to  thee  for  aid ;  and  thou,  trampling  on 
the  rights  of  nations  and  of  hospitality,  hast  immured  me 
in  a  living  tomb !  Thou  hast  cruelly  deprived  me  of  my 
servants  and  my  faithful  friends ;  thou  hast  abandoned  me 
to  the  most  shameful  need,  and,  finally,  exposed  me  to  the 
ignominy  of  a  trial !  0But  no  more  |  of  the  past.  We  are 
now  °fa"ce  to  face  !  Display  thy  heart !  °Tell  me  the  crimes 
of  which  I  am  accused.  All !  wherefore  didst  thou  not 
grant"  me  this  friendly  audience  |  when  I  so  eagerly  desired 
to  see  thee  ?  It  would  have  spared  me  °years  of  mise~ry ;  and 
this  sad,  painful  interview  |  0 would  never  have  occurred  | 
in  this  abode  of  gloom  and  horror ! 

Voice.  The  blow  was  aimed  at  my  head,  but  'tis  on  thine 
that  it  will  fall. 

Mary.  I  am  in   the   hand   of  Gocl !  but   thou   wilt  not 
exceed  thy  power  by  committing  so  atrocious  a  deed ! 

Voice.  No !  there  can  be  no   friendship  with  a  race  of 
vipers  ! 

Mary    [slowly].     Are    these    thy    dark   suspicions?    To 
thine  eyes,  then,  I  have   ever  seemed  a  stranger  and  an 


1 38  HELEN  PO  TTER  S 

enemy.  If  thou  hadst  but  recognized  me  as  heiress  to  thy 
throne,  as  is  my  lawful  right — love",  friendship,  would  have 
made  of  me  j  thy  sister  |  0and  thy  friend ! 

Voice.  Heiress  to  my  throne  ?  Insidious  treachery  ! 

Mary.  Reign  on  |  in  peace !  I  renounce  all  right  unto 
thy  sceptre !  The  wings  of  my  ambition  have  long  drooped, 
and  greatness  has  no  longer  charms  for  me !  'Tis  thou  | 
who  hast  it  "all !  I  am  now  but  the  shade  of  Mary  Stuart ! 
My  pristine  ardor  has  been  subdued  by  the  ignominy  of 
my  chains !  Thou  hast  now  put  my  spirit  to  its  last  test ! 
Thou  hast  nipped  my  existence  in  its  bud !  Now,  hold ! 
Pronounce  those  magnanimous  words  for  which  thou  earnest 
hither — for  I  will  not  believe  that  thou  art  come  to  enjoy 
the  °base  delight  ( / )  of  insulting  thy  0victim !  ( \ )  Pro- 
nounce the  words  so  longed  for,  and  say,  "  Mary,  thou  art 
free  !  Till  now  thou  has  only  known  my  power;  thou  shalt 
now  know  |  my  greatness  !  "  Woe  to  thee,  shouldst  thou  not 
depart  from  me  propitious,  beneficent,  sublime,  like  to  an 
invoked  Deity.  °Oh,  sister !  not  for  all  England,  not  for 
all  the  lands  that  the  vast  ocean  embraces,  would  I  present 
myself  to  thee  0with  the  in°exorable  aspect  |  with  which 
thou  now  regardest  me ! 

Voice.  Thou  murderest  thy  husbands. 

Mary  [shuddering'].  Oh,  heavens !  °sister — grant  me 
Resignation ! 

Voice.  Is  this  the  reigning  beauty  of  the  universe  ? 

Mary.  Ah  !  'tis  too  much  !   [  Impatiently.] 

Voice.  Ay,  now  thou  showest  thyself  in  thine  own  form. 
Till  now  thou  hast  worn  a  mask  ! 

Mary  [with  dignified  pride].  They  were  human  errors 
that  overcame  me  in  my  youth ;  my  grandeur  |  dazzled 
me.  I  have  naught  to  conceal,  |  nor  deny  my  faults.  My 
pride  has  ever  disdained  the  base  artifices  of  vile  intriguers. 
The  worst  I  ever  did  |  is  known,  and  I  may  boast  myself 
far  better  |  than  my  reputation.     But  woe  to  thee,  hypo- 


IMPERSONATIONS.  139 

crite,  if  ever  thou  lettest  fall  the  virgin  mantle  beneath 
which  thou  concealest  thine  own  shameless  love  !  Thou, 
the  daughter  of  Anne  Boleyn,  hast  not  inherited  virtue, 
and  well  we  know  what  brought  thy  mother  to  the  fatal 
block! 

Voice.  Is  this  thy  humility,  thy  endurance  ? 

Mary  [loudly],  Endurailce  3  I  have  endured  all  that 
'tis  in  the  power  of  mortal  heart  to  bear.  Hence,  abject 
humility !  Insulted  patience,  get  ye  from  my  heart !  And 
thou,  my  long  pent-up  indignation,  break  thy  bonds  and 
burst  forth  from  thy  lair !  Oh,  thou  who  gavest  to  the  angry 
serpent  his  deadly  glance,  arm  thou  my  tongue  with  [gut- 
tural] poisonous  stings !  °°The  throne  of  England  is  °pro- 
faned  by  thee !  The  British  nation  is  duped  by  a  vile 
pretender!  Thou  art  false  and  painted,  °°heart  as  well  as 
face  !  Did  but  right  prevail,  thou  wouldst  now  be  grovelling 
at  my  feet, — for  'tis  /  who  am  thy  sovereign  !  [Elizabeth 
hastily  retires.] 

[Still  violently  excited.]  She  departs,  burning  with  rage 
and  with  the  bitterness  of  death  at  heart !  How  happy  I 
am !  I  have  degraded  her  in  Leicester's  presence  !  At  last ! 
at  last!  after  long  years  of  insult  and  contumely,*  I  have 
at  least  enjoyed  °one  hour  of  triumph  0and  revenge  !  [Exit 
hastily.] 


Costdmb.  —  Satin  or  brocade  silk,  with  long  full  skirt ;  high  bodice, 
pointed  back  and  front ;  sleeves  open  and  hanging  half  way  to  the 
ground ;  close,  puffed  or  plain,  undersleeves,  having  deep  lace  cuffs 
on  the  outside;  Elizabethan  head-dress  and  full  ruff;  rosary  and 
crucifix;  as  the  scene  is  in  the  open  air,  a  hat  and  cloak  may  be 
added  to  the  outfit,  if  desired. 

*Con'tumely. 


140  HELEN  POTTERS 


JAKEY  AND  OLD  JACOB. 


Jakey  crept  up  and  sat  down  by  his  mother's  side,  as  she 
was  looking  out  of  the  window,  yesterday  morning.  After 
a  few  minutes  of  silence  he  broke  out  with : 

Jakey.  *  °Ma,  ain't  pa's  name  Jacob  ? 

Mrs.  W.  0Yes,  Jakey  ! 

Jakey.  %  °If  I  was  called  young  Jacob,  he'd  be  called  old 
Jacob,  wouldn't  he  ? 

Mrs.  W.  (/)  0Yes,  my  dear,  |  what  makes  you  ask? 

Jakey.  t  °Nothing,  only  I  "heard  something  about  bim 
(/)  0last  night. 

Mrs.  W.  suddenly  became  interested. 

Mrs.  W.  What  was  it,  my  son  ? 

Jakey.  *  °Oh,  nothing  much,  something  the  new  Sunday 
school  teacher  said. 

Mrs.  W-  0You  oughtn't  to  have  anything  your  °mother 
doesn't  know,  |  Jakey. 

Jakey.  *  °Well,  |  if  you  must  go  poking  into  everything  j 
I'll  °tell  Oyou.  °The  new  Sunday  school  teacher  says  to 
me,  "  What's  your  name,  my  little  man  ?  "  An' when  I  said, 
"  Jacob,"  he  asked  me  if  I  ever  heard  of  old  Jacob,  |  an' 
I  thought  that  was  °pa's  name,  |  so  I  told  him  |  0I  guess  I 
°had ;  but  I'd  like  to  hear  |  what  he  had  to  say  about  him. 
An'  he  said  old  Jacob  |  used  to  be  a  little  boy  once  |  just 
like  me,  an'  had  bean-shooters,  |  an'  |  stilts,  |  an'  used  to 
play  hookey  an'  get  licked,  |  an'  used  to  tend  cattle— 

Mrs.  W.  Yes,  I  believe  he  said  [  his  father  used  to  keep 
a  cow. 

Jakey.  *  An'  he  hogged  his  brother  out  of  something  or 
other,  |  an'  |  he  got  struck  with  a  young  woman  j  named 


IMPERSONATIONS.  141 

Rachel — an'  was  goin'  [  to  °marry  0her,  |  but  her  dad  fooled 
him  |  an'  made  him  marry  his  other  girl ;  |  but  pa  said  |  he 
guessed  °he  wasn't  nobody's  fool,  an'  so  he  just  married 
°both  of  'em — 

Mrs.  W.  [excitedly] .  -*  °  The  wretch  ! 

Jakey.  8  An'  he  said  old  Jacob  |  had  a  dozen  or  two 
°children  |  an' — 

Mrs.  W-  [rising].  *  °Did  I  marry  him  for  this ! 

Jakey.  %  0Fm  sure  (\)  °1  don't  know  what  you  °married 
0him  °for,  |  but  you  won't  ketch  me  tollin'  you  anything 
a°g'in,  |  0if  you're  goin'  to  make  such  a  °row  about  it ;  (/)  I 
kin  tell  you  °that ! 

When  Mr.  W.  came  home,  he  met  Mrs.  W.  in  the  hall, 
with  a  very  red  face.  She  pointed  her  finger  at  him  and 
screamed : 

Mrs.  W-  [point  to  door],  $  ° Villain  !  Can  you  look  your 
innocent  wife  |  and  infant  son  in  the  face  ? 

Mr.  W.  stared  hard  at  Mrs.  W. 

Mrs.  W-  J  ( \ )  °1  know  where  you  |  go,  |  sir,  |  when  you 
stay  away  from  home  !  I've  ^heard  |  1  he  story  of  your 
°perfidy  !  Canyon  tell  me  how  ||  [snajj  it  out]  Rachel  |  and 
the  other  woman  are  to-day  ? 

Mr.  W.  [surprised].  (/)  0I  don't  know  what  you  °mean. 

Mrs.  W-  [weeping].  3  °I  always  °knew  |  something  like 
this  |  would  occur.  |  °Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  |  how  the  [ 
the —  |  the —  [  children  \  are.  [Sobbing.]  Oh,  why  did  1 
ever  leave  my  father's  house.  [Wring  the  hands  and  sway 
to  and  fro.]  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  leave  my  father's  house  ! 
°Jakey,  |  my  °boy,  |  come  here  |  to  your  mother.  °Oh,  oh '. 
Jakey,  |  Jakey,  we  shall  be  very  |  °poor,  |  and  we  shan't 
have  (  /)  anything  to  eat.  Oh,  Jakey,  Jakey,  why  was  I 
ever  |  born  |  to  come  [  to  this  !     [Walk  up  and  dovm.] 

[Enter  a  neighbor  ;  Mrs.  W.  runs  to  her,  exclaiming.]  Oh, 
Mrs.  Lewis,  |  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  I'm  the  most  Mis- 
erable woman  |  in   all   the    world  !     [Cry.]     My  husband 


14£  HELEN  POTTERS 

(q.)  is  a  villain  !  ||  [Cry.]  It's  all  very  well  |  for  you  to  tell 
me  |  to  be  philo°soph0i°cal,  |  but  [hysterically  with  handker- 
chief to  eyes]  I  °can't — oh,  I  can't,  I  can't !  [Stamp  and  sit 
abruptly.]  I  never  yet  saw  a  man  |  with  a  mole  on  his 
nose  |  who  didn't,  sooner  or  later,  prove  to  be  a  ras- 
cal ! 

Toward  evening  Jakey  wTas  sitting  on  the  steps,  when 
the  Sunday  school  teacher  chanced  to  pass  by,  and  Jakey 
hailed  him : 

Jakey.  J  °Say,  mister,  I  told  my  °inother  |  what  you  told 
me  about  old  Jacob,  and  there  has  been  the  old  °scratch  to 
pay  |  ever  ,:ince.  Ma  called  pa  a  villain  j  and  a  bloody 
thief,  |  and  tried  to  break  her  back  on  the  sofa,  |  and  said 
there  wouldn't  be  anything  to  eat,  and  there  ain't  been  such 
a  time  in  our  house  |  since  pa  offered  to  kiss  Aunt  Jane 
°good0bye.  Mebbe  you'd  better  drop  in  and  °see  0her,  j 
mister ;  ||  but  she  ain't  so  bad  as  she  °was ! 

He  was  finally  persuaded  to  enter  the  house. 

Mrs.W.  [tearfully].  °I  °thank  Oyou  |  for  tellin'  me  of  my 
husband's  °perfidy  ! 

S.  /S.  T.  Perfidy,  your  husband !  I  haven't  said  a  word 
about  your  husband  ! 

Mrs.  W.  °0h,  yes,  you  °have.  You  told  my  poor  boy, 
Jakey,  and  he  came  straight  home  |  and  told  me  all  about 
it,  |  Jakey  did. 

S.  S.  T.  I  don't  know  what  you  °mean  !    1  told  Jakey  j 
what,  j  when,  |  where  ? 

Mrs.  W-  °0h,  you  told  J::key  |  that  his  father,  old  Jacob, 
had  two — °°tv)o  wives. 

8.  8.  T.  Old  Jacob,  \  two  wires !  Oh,  dear  me,  that  was 
the  patriarch  Jacob,  the  Bible  Jacob,  that  I  was  telling 
the  boys  about  in  Sunday  school.  I  don't  (\)  °know  your 
husband  ;  never  saw  him  in  my  life,  and  I  didn't  know  his 
name  was  Jacob  ! 

Mrs.  W.  started  right  off  to  find  her  husband,  and  aston- 


IMPERSONATIONS.  143 

ished  him  again  |  by  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
sobbing  hysterically. 

Mrs.  W.  t  °0h,  you  dear  |  good  |  soul !  Can  you  °ever 
Ofor°give  me  ?  I've  been  such  a  |  °fool !  Oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  ! 

And  Mrs.  \V.  would  be  perfectly  happy  |  if  she  could 
only  shut  Mrs.  Lewis's  [|  mouth. 


LARGE  AND  SMALL  BOSSES. 


Chief  Clerk  [to  head  of  establishment].  Good  morning,  Mi. 
Largewealth. 

Head  of  Establishment.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Smith'. 

Second  Chief  Clerk  [to  chief  clerk].  Good  morning,  Mr, 
Smith ;  pleasant  morning. 

Chief  Clerk.  Morning,  Brown. 

Ordinary  Clerk  [to  second  chief  clerk].  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Brown.     Glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well  this  morning,  sir. 

/Second  Chief  Clerk.  Ya'as.     Hang  up  my  coat,  Jones. 

Office  Boy  [to  ordinary  clerk].  Good  morning,  Mr.  Jones. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you  this  morning,  sir  ? 

Ordinary  Clerk.  Hustle  round  lively  now,  and  get  things 
in  shape.     You  ain't  worth  the  powder  to  blow  you  up. 

Negro  Porter  [to  office  boy].  Good  mawnin',  James.  How 
is  your  health  this  mawnin'  ? 

Office  Boy.  Come,  you  black  nigger,  get  down  stairs  and 
sweep  out  the  basement,  or  I'll  report  you. 

The  negro  porter  then  goes  down  stairs  and  abuses  the 
cat. 


144  HELEN  POTTER'S 


A  T.ALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 


BY    O.    E.     MELICHAR. 


PROLOGUE. 


"  We've  laid  so  long  we're  getting  dusty, 

For  want  of  use  our  leaves  are  musty; 

We're  never  read,  we're  only  kept  for  looks," 

Was  the  gossip  carried  on  among  the  library  books. 

"What  say  you,  brothers,  since  we're  so  seldom  used 
That  we  a  story  tell,  each  other  to  amuse  ? 
The  plot  and  title  from  our  names  we'll  take, 
Which,  put  together,  shall  our  story  make. 
No  mixing  up  of  authors,  for  that  is  wrong, 
But  in  strict  rotation  each  shall  come  along." 

To  Dickens'  works  the  lot  it  fell 

To  give  the  title,  and  commence  as  well; 

All  being"  ready,  Dickens'  works  began, 

And  while  the  others  listened,  thus  the  story  ran. 

IN  Hard  Times  one  cannot  have  Great  Expecta' 
tions"  wyere  the  remarks  made  by  David  Copper- 
field,  as  he  sat  reading  The  Mystery  of  Edwin 
Drood  in  The  Pickwick  Papers  at  Mrs.  Linriperrs 
Lodgings,  which  wras  a  Bleak  House  on  a  side 
street,  and  therefore  No  Thoroughfare.  His 
room  was  indeed  an  Old  Curiosity  Shop.  Master 
Humphrey  s  Clock  stood  in  one  corner,  Somebody's  Luggage 
in  another,  while  Sketches  by  Boz  and  a  few  odd  Pictures 
from  Italy  decorated  the  walls.  His  fellow-lodger,  Martin 
Chuzzlewit,  reclined  on  the  bed,  drawing  Sketches  of  Young 


IMPERSONATIONS  145 

Couples  for  The  Mudfog  Papers,  to  which  he  was  a  con- 
tributor. The  Cricket  on  the  Hearllt,  was  singing  a  sort  of 
A  Christmas  Carol,  as  if  to  cheer  The  Uncommercial  Traveler 
through  The  Battle  of  Life.  He  was  indeed  A  Haunted 
Man;  as  he  heard  The  Chime*,  his  memory  wandered  back 
to  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground  at  Mugby  Junction,  where  he  aud 
his  friend  Barnaby  Rudge  first  met  Little  Dorrit,  who  was 
introduced  by  Oliver  Twist,  whom  she  termed  Our  Mutual 
Friend.  Well  did  he  remember  the  spot,  an  inn  kept  by 
Bombey  &  /Son.  'Twas  The  Lazy  Tour  of  Two  Idle  Ap- 
prentices. 

Pleasant  indeed  were  the  recollections  of  how  with  her 
he  had  gathered  Fallen  Leaves,  played  Hide  and  /Seek,  and 
how  After  Bark  he  had  frightened  her  and  Poor  Miss  Finch 
by  telling  of  a  Bead  Secret  of  a  Woman  in  White,  who  wore 
a  Black  Robe  and  a  Yellow  Ma.-ik,  and  came  from  The  Frozen 
Beep,  and  inhabited  The  Haunted  Hotel  at  Armadale,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  Jezebel's  Daughter,  but  was  called  by 
neighbors  The  New  Magdalen;  and  how  after  the  Buel  in 
HemeWood,  near  The  Moonstone,  a  spirit  with  Magic  Spec- 
tacles was  seen  and  heard  to  ciy  out,  Who  Killed  Zebedee  f 
'Twas  A  Shocking  Story  with  No  Name,  so  he  applied  that 
of  The  Captain's  Last  Love  to  illustrate  the  end  of  A  Rogue  s 
Life.  As  she  intently  listened  how  he  wished  they  were 
Man  and  Wife,  for  he  thought  her  The  Queen,  of  Hearts. 
But  who  could  have  foretold  The  Two  Beztinit-sl  He  was 
poor,  while  My  Lady's  Money  was  counted  by  thousands. 

Her  eyes  were  'brilliant  as  Sunrise.  She  was  hi  Silk 
Attire.  The  Three  Feathers  in  her  bonnet  arid  the  Madcap 
Violet  on  her  bosom  made  her  more  beautiful  than  the 
Princess  of  Thule.  She  lacked  only  White  Wing?,  to  be  in 
his  eyes  an  angel ;  in  fact,  she  would  have  captivated  The 
Monarch  of  Mincing  Lane. 

He  had  been  a  Wandering  Heir,  a  Jack  of  all  Trades; 
but  Put  Yourself  in  his  Place,  and  you  would  have  b^en  the 


146  HELEN  POTTER'S 

same.  He  had  been  A  Woman  Hater  until  he  first  met  her 
whose  words,  Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long,  were  engraven 
in  his  heart.  To  him  it  had  been  A  Terrible  Temptation  to 
tell  White  Lies  that  he  might  gain  her.  To  have  said  that 
he  possessed  Hard  Cash  would  have  been  Foul  Play.  He 
was  not  such  A  Simpleton  to  risk  the  chances  of  The  Jilt. 
He  had  led  a  roving  life;  but  'Tis  Never  too  Late  to  Mend, 
was  his  motto. 

Six  Years  Later,  Three  Strong  Men,  Captain  Paul,  Count 
of  Monte  Cristo,  and  The  Chevalier  de  Maison  Rouge,  who 
was  no  other  than  our  hero,  sat  gambling  for  The  Queen's 
Necklace,  which  they  together  had  captured  from  Joseph 
Balsamo,  The  Watchmaker  to  The  Countess  de  Charny. 
'Twas  they  who  were  The  Conspirators,  who  with  the  aid  of 
Doctor  Basiliris  and  The  Russian  Gypsy,  known  as  The  Black 
Tulip,  who  was  one  of  The  Muhicans  of  Paris,  had  caused 
to  be  set  aside  The  Marriage  Verdict  in  the  love  affair 
between  Chicot,  the  Jester  and  Isabel  of  Bavaria  who,  how- 
ever, Twenty  Years  After,  became  the  wife  of  The  Page  of 
the  Duke  of  Savoy.  Catherine  Blum,  The  Regent's  Daughter, 
hearing  of  the  loss  of  the  jewel,  dispatched  The  Twin 
Lieutenants  with  45  Guardsmen  to  recover  it.  Having 
located  it  correctly,  they  stationed  3  Guardsmen  outside., 
and  then,  like  Birds  of  Prey,  made  a  descent  on  the  gam- 
blers, who  were  now  Put  to  the  Test.  Taking  advantage 
of  The  Shadow  in  the  Comer,  our  hero  alone  escaped.  What 
A  Strange  World  thought  he  ;  bat  I  will  fight  Just  As  I  Am, 
To  the  Bitter  End,  for  I  am  Bound  to  Join  Company  with  her 
again,  even  if  I  have  to  show  The  Cloven  Foot  to  accomplish 
it.  Yet  she  was  Only  a  Woman ;  but  he  would  never  be 
Lost  for  .Love  if  he  could  but  reach  her;  he  was  wealthy 
now,  his  sister  Charlottes  Inheritance  having  fallen  to  him. 

It  was  A  Christian's  Mistake.  Studies  from  Life  had  been 
to  him  as  Sermons  out  of  Church ;  there  was  Nothing  New  ; 
he  was  now  A  Hero;  in  all  his  battles  it  had  been  A  Life 


IMPERSONATIONS.  147 

for  a  Life;  he  would  return  now  and  be  The  Head  of  the 
Family,  many  the  Brave  Lady  of  his  choice,  and  lead  A 
Noble  Life.  Mother  and  I  will  be  happy  when  we  again 
meet  at  the  Laurel  Bush  where  we  parted,  and  sister 
Hannah,  who  has  just  received  A  Legacy,  and  who  is  going 
to  be  married  to  John  Halifax,  Gentleman,  will  welcome  me 
with  open  arms.  The  Two  Marriages  shall  take  place 
together,  and  in  The  Two  Homes,  Mistress  and  Maid  will  both 
be  merry.  Young  Mrs.  Jardine,  The  Italians  Daughter,  who 
by  the  way  is  Motherless,  is  coming  with  Cousin  from  India 
to  The  Happy  Isles,  and  will  be  in  time  to  see  Squire 
Arden  in  May  tie  the  knot  For  Love  and  Life.  Dorrit  and 
I  will  go  to  Paris,  and  the  world  may  deem  us  The  Fugi- 
tives, but  I  care  not.  The  Greatest  Heiress  in  England  or 
even  The  Queen  is  not  lovelier  than  she,  whom  I  have  taken 
In  Trust. 

Years  after,  strangers  passing  along  Primrose  Path  have 
noticed  An  Odd  Couple  living  at  No.  3  Grove  Road ;  together 
they  are  known  as  the  Orphans ;  separately  the  woman  is 
called  Madonna  Mary,  and  the  man  The  Wandering  Jew ; 
in  fact,  they  are  one  of  The  Mysteries  of  Paris.  Years  ago, 
some  say,  the  man  was  none  other  than  Arthur,  The  Com- 
mander of  Malta,  and  was  The  Court  Conspirator,  who 
escaped  with  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.  The  History  of  a  Crime 
in  regard  to  a  stolen  necklace  is  also  related  of  the  man  by 
The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame,  and  is  vouched  for  by 
Jean  Valf-an,  they  having  seen  the  documents  at  St. 
Denis. 

On  St.  Martins  Eve  the  couple  removed  to  Rupert  Hall  on 
Red  Court  Farm,  near  Pomeroy  Abbey,  and  to-day  their 
former  dwelling  is  known  as  The  Haunted  Tower  on  account 
of  The  Mystery  that  hung  over  its  former  occupants.  Thus 
is  A  Life's  Secret  lost  to  the  community.  In  their  new 
home  the  woman  is  known  as  The  Noblemaris  Wife,  and 
the  man  as  The  Little  Earl  who  has  lived  Under  Two  Flags. 


148  HELEN  POTTERS 

They  live  in  Friendship  with  all,  even  the  Village  Commune, 
and  A  Hero's  Reward  is  granted  him. 

He  has  sown  A  Harvest  of  Wild  Oats,  and  his  experiences 
are  Written  in  Fire;  how  he  ever  survived  is  Out  of  His 
Reckoning.  He  has  now  an  heir  whom  he  calls  My  Own 
Child,  The  Fair  Haired  Alda,  With  Cupid's  Eyes.  Thus  in 
Loves  Conflict,  as  in  his  life,  it  has  been  to  him  A  Lucky 
Disappointment  in  the  end. 

The  Turn  of  Fortunes  Wheel,  which  is  as  fickle  as  A 
Young  Man's  Fancy,  has  placed  them  happily  together  In 
a  Country  House,  which  to  the  yet  Fair  Woman  and  My 
Hero  is  more  beautiful  than  was  Queen  Elizabeth's  Garden. 


AFTER  THE  BALL. 


BY    SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 


Amid  the  merry  dancers  my  face  is  blithe  and  bright, 
And  in  the  waltz  or  landers  my  feet -tire  lithe  and  light. 
He  frowns  to  see  me  laughing  amid  the  joyous  crew, 
And  thinks  I  do  not  love  him — ah,  if  he  only  knew  ! 

He  deems  a  woman's  passion  the  art  of  a  coquette, 

And  vows  that  naught  but  fashion  my  heart  hath  stirred 

as  yet. 
He  only  sees  the  actress  before  the  play  is  through, 
Alas  !  behind  the  curtain — ah,  if  he  only  knew  ! 

Must  women  e'er  be  wearing  the  heart  upon  the  sleeve, 
A  mark  for  idle  staring  that  lovers  may  believe  ? 
I  am  not  cold  nor  fickle,  forgetful  nor  untrue  ; 
I  love  him— I  adore  him — ah,  if  he  only  knew ! 


IMPERSONATIONS.  149 

GIRLS. 


A  STUDY  OF  OLIVE  LOGAN. 


Text   from   one   of   her  Lectures. 


rADIES  and  Gentlemen  :  In  looking  about  me,  | 
for  a  subject  |  for  my  lecture,  |  I  selected  <?iWs,  | 
[geurls]  because  °that  (/)  0is  a  subject  |  with 
which  I  am  most  (\ )  familiar  [familyah].  The 
first  thing  |  that  happens  to  a  girl  |  ( \)  °she's 
a  baby ;  j  and  the  same  thing  happens  to 
boys,  |  toS. 

The  girls  of  America  |  may  be  divided  into 
four   [foah]   classes :    Country  girls,  |   fashionable   girls,  | 
strong-minded  girls,  |  and  |  Yankee  girls. 

Country  girls  |  are  stupid  and  sensible ;  fashionable 
girls  |  are  better  |  [bettah]  than  they  seem ;  strong-minded 
girls  j  are  brave  and  erratic ;  and  the  Yankee  girl  |  is  a 
jewel  of  a  girl. 

°I  (/)  don't  want  the  |  °ballot!  I  wouldn't  lose  my  long 
beautiful  curls  [daintily  toying  with  long  curls  which  hung 
from  her  coil  of  rich  brown  hair],  and  wear  short  hair  like  a 
babboon  !  ( \  )  °I  don't  want  to  be  a  niaii  |  and  wear  their 
horrid  °clothes,  and  I  (\)  °never  see  |  a  pretty  girl  |  but  I 
want  to  ran  |  and  clasp  her  |  in  my  arms. 
[Voice  from  the  gallery.]  "/So  do  we!  " 

°Well,  Oboys  [looking  up  to  the  gallery],  I  can't  blame 
you !  [Exit.] 

Miss  Logan  is  a  graceful  ami  accomplished  lady,  and  a  skilful 
diplomat.  In  the  fashionable  world  she  is  most  at  home.  An  elegant 
costume  of  French  design  will  suit  this  characterization.  Elevate 
the  shoulders  and  lean  forward.  Speak  slowly,  in  a  clear,  high  voice, 
and  move  upon  your  high  heels  somewhat  as  a  canary  bird  does 
upon  his  perch  when  he  sings. 


150  HELEN  POTTER'S 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  LOST  BRIDE. 


The  mistletoe  hung  in  the  castle  hall, 
The  holly  branch  shone  on  the  old  oak  wall, 
And  the  Baron's  retainers  were  blithe  and  gay, 
And  keeping  their  Christmas  holiday. 
The  Baron  beheld  with  a  father's  pride, 
His  beautiful  child,  young  Lovel's  bride, 
While  she,  with  her  bright  eyes,  seemed  to  be 
The  star  of  that  goodly  company. 

"  I'm  weary  of  dancing  now,"  she  cried, 

"  Here  tarry  a  moment,  I'll  hide,  I'll  hide, 

And  Lovel  be  sure  thou'rt  the  first  to  trace 

The  clue  to  my  secret  lurking  place." 

Away  she  ran,  and  her  friends  began 

Each  tower  to  search  and  each  nook  to  scan, 

And  young  Lovel  cried :   "Oh!  where  dost  thou  hide, 

I'm  lonesome  without  thee,  my  own  dear  bride." 

They  sought  her  that  night  and  they  sought  her  next  day, 

And  they  sought  her  in  vain,  when  a  week  passed  away, 

In  the  highest,  the  lowest,  the  loneliest  spot, 

Young  Lovel  sought  wildly  but  found  her  not ; 

And  years  flew  by  and  their  grief  at  last 

Was  told  as  a  sorrowful  tale  long  past, 

And  wrhen  Lovel  appeared  the  children  cried: 

"See  !  the  old  man  weeps  for  his  fairy  bride." 

At  length  an  oak  chest,  that  had  long  lain  hid 
Was  found  in  the  castle.     They  raised  the  lid, 
And  a  skeleton  form  of  a  lady  fair. 
In  bridal  array  of  dust  lay  there. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  151 

Oh !  sad  was  her  fate  ;  in  sportive  jest, 
She  hid  from  her  lord  in  the  old  oak  chest, 
It  closed  with  a  spring,  and  her  bridal  bloom 
Lay  withering  there  in  a  living  tomb. 

Pantomime  op  "  The  Lost  Bride." 


Stanza  I. — The  bridal  tableau ;  the  bride  leaves  the  com- 
pany ;  the  company  seek  the  bride. 

Stanza  II. — The  garret ;  the  old  chest ;  the  bride  hides  ; 
almost  saved;  lost  forever;  grief;  the  bridal  party 
mourning. 

Stanza  III. — Fifty  years  later ;  children  on  the  green  at 
play ;  the  old  man  appears  searching  for  his  bride. 

Stanza  IV. — The  butler  in  the  garret ;  goes  for  the  house- 
keeper ;  such  a  dust !  housemaids  called ;  curiosity ;  the 
mystery  revealed ;  goes  for  the  old  man ;  the  bridal 
wreath  recognized ;  closing  scene. 


This  most  touching'  story  has  been  arranged  for  a  series  of  tableaux 
many  times.  A  synopsis  of  the  pantomime  is  here  given.  The  poem 
should  be  recited  before  the  pantomime  begins. 


A  TOAST. 


From  ruby  lips  to  finger  tips 
She's  made  of  mortal  blisses ; 

Angels  above  who  worship  love 
Would  languish  for  her  kisses. 

I  quaff  this  cup  to  one  made  up 
Of  grace  found  in  no  other ; 

In  whose  true  eyes  God's  own  love  iies- 
I  drink  it  to  my  mother. 


152  HELEN  POTTER'S 


MEG  MERRILIES. 


PART  FIRST. 


From  "Guy  Mannering." — Walter  Scott. 


A   STUDY    OP   CHARLOTTE    CUSHMAN. 

Argument. — Henry  Bertram  is  stolen  by  the  gypsies,  when  a  child  ; 
he  is  abandoned  by  them,  serves  in  the  army,  and  finally  wanders 
back  to  his  native  place.  The  gypsies  discover  him,  and,  to  ex- 
tort money  from  the  man  who  holds  illegal  possession  of  young 
Bertram's  estates,  conspire  to  carry  him  off  by  force  or  to  murder 
him.  From  this  dilemma,  old  Meg  Merrilies  delivers  him  at  the 
peril  of  her  life.  Shot  by  her  own  people,  she  dies  heroically  pro- 
claiming his  heirship  to  the  estates  of  Ellangowan. 


Act  II.,  Scene  III. — A  wild  forest,  cliff  and  hills  in  the  distance;  a 
gypsy  hut  in  the  centre. 

[Meg  rushes  in  from  the  forest  and  stands  gazing ,  as  if  trans- 
fixed, at  Henry  Bertram,  who  sits,  with  a  companion,  at  an 
outdoor  repast.  Throw  off  the  voice  (while  transfixed)  and  speak 
for  young  Bertram,  to  open  the  conversation  between  them.] 

Bert.  [disg.  v.]  My  good  woman,  do  you  know  me  that 
you  look  at  me  so  hard  ? 

Meg.  °Ay,  better  than  you  know  yourself! 

Bert.  [disg.  v.]  That  is,  you'll  tell  my  future  fortune. 

Meg.  °Yes,  [  because  I  know  your  °past. 

Bert.  [disg.  v.]  (/)  Indeed!  then  you  have  read  a  per- 
plexed page. 

Meg.  °It  will  be  clearer  °soon. 

Bert.  [disg.  v.]  Never  less  likely. 

Meg.  °°Never  m^ore  "so  !  [Waves  away  his  offer  of  money.] 
If,  |  with  a  simple  spell,  [  I  cannot  recall  times  |  which  you 
have  long  (/)  forgotten,  |  (\)  hold  me  the  most  °miserable 
(\)  °impostor.  (\)°Hearme,  |  °hear  me,  0Henry,  |  Henry 
Bertram.  Hark !  hark !  to  the  sound  of  other  days ! 
Listen  |  and  let  your  heart  |  awake.  [iSings,  and  sighs  when 
taking  breath.] 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


153 


OH,  REST  THEE,  BABE. 


Andantino. 


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HELEN  POTTER'S 
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m 


=t 


sleep    on    till    day ;      Oh,  rest   thee,  babe,  rest  thee,   babe, 


&B 


IMFERSONA  TIONS. 


155 


uad  lib, 


Bert.  [disg.  v.]  These  words  do,  indeed,  thrill  my  bosom 
with  strange  emotions.  [Meg  starts  as  if  rejoiced,  and  ex- 
claims, "°ki!"] 

Meg.  °Listeh,  °youth,  |  to  (\)  °  words  of  power; 

(--)  Swiftly  |  comes  |  the  rightful  hour! 

(--)  °They  who  did  thee  scathe  and  wrong, 

0Shall  |  °pay  their  deeds  |  0by  |  death  \  [nod]  erelong. 

(s.  < )  The  dark  shall  be  light,  and  the  wrong  made  right, 

(/)  And  Bertram's  right,  |  and  Bertram's  might,  | 

0Shall  |  °°meet  |  Oon  Ellangowan's  height  ! 

Bert.  [disg.  v.\  °Bertram !  °Bertrani !  |  Why  does  that 
name  sound  so  familiar  to  me  ? 

Meg.  And  now  |  begone !  (/.)  °Francb,  °°Franeo,  |  guide 
these  strangers  on  their  way  to  °Kippletringah  ;  |  °°Kip- 
pletrnugah!  (p.)  °Yet  cstay ;  let  me  see  your  hand.  (!) 
What  say  these  lines  of  the  fortunes  past  ?  Wandering  and 
woe  and  danger  and  crosses  in  love  and  in  friendship  ! 
Whatjrf  the  future  ?  Honor,  wealtK,  prosperity,  love  re- 
wardedand  friendship  reunited  !  0But  what  of  the  pres- 
ent? Ay !  there's  a  trace,  which  speaks  [quick]  of  "danger, 
of  0cap°tivity,  (/)  perchance  ;  [slower]  obut  not  \  of  death! 
[Look  cautiously  around  and  speak  low.]  oIf  you  are  attacked, 
be   men,    and   let   your  °hands  (\)  °defend   your   heads! 


( » ) i  Take  the  left  hand  with  the  right,  and,  stooping,  peer  into  the  palm  and 
kiss  it,  exclaiming  tearfully  :  "  My  bairn,  my  bairn,  my  bonny  bairn  !  " 


156  HELEN  PO TIERS 

[Quick.]  .  I  will  not  be  far  distant  from  you  in  the  moment 
of  need.  And  now  begone  !  Fate  calls  you !  [Shade  the 
eyes  with  the  hand,  and  look  cautiously  to  the  right  and  left.] 
0Away,  °away,  °°away  !  [Run  off  the  stage  while  saying  the 
last  words.] 

PART  SECOND. 


Act  III.,  Scene  I. — Seashore,  with  the  Castle  on  the  rocks. 

Meg.  °So,  0so* ;  his  death  |  is  purposed  ;  and  they 
have  chosen  the  scene  Oof  °one  °murder  |  Oto  commit 
another.  °Right !  the  blood  spilt  on  that  spot,  ( — )  has 
long  |  cried  |  for  0  vengeance,  ||  and  it  (\)  °shall  fall  upon 
them.  Sebastian,  speed  to  Dinmont  |  and  the  youth  ;  tell 
them  °not  Oto  separate  |  for  their  lives,  ( — )  guide  them  to 
the  glen  |  near  the  tower ;  (  \ )  °there  let  them  wait  |  till 
Glossin  and  Hatterick  J  °meet  (/)  0in  the  cavern,  |  and  I 
will  join  them.  °°Away,  |  0and  do  my  bidding  !  [Exit 
Sebastian.]  (--)  0Now  |  to  send  to  Mannering,  ( — )  I  must 
remain  on  the  watch  myself.  ( >-> )  °Gabriel  |  0I  dare  not 
trust.  °Ha !  (\)  °who  comes  now?  [Start  back,  then  ad- 
vance stealthily,  and  peer  into  the  forest  with  the  hand  shading 
the  eyes.]  Q'Tis  °Abel  ^Sampson,  Henry  Bertram's  ancient 
°tutor !  [Slop  and  think.]  0It  (\)  °shall  be  so.  [Advance.] 
°°Stop  !   I  command  ye  ! 

[Disg.  v.]  0She's  °mad  ! 

Meg.  No  ;  I  am  °not  0mad  !  I've  been  Oim°prisoned  for 
°mad,  °scourged  Ofor  °mad,  (\)  °°banished  for  mad;  0but 
°mad  |  I  am  not!  °Halt,  |  and  stand  fast,  |  or  ye  shall  °r ue 
the  day  |  while  a  climb  of  ye  |  hangs  together!  0Stay,  | 
Othou  °tremblest !  [Take  out  an  old  black  whiskey  bottle  and 
hold  it  out  to  Sampson,  left.]  °Drink  |  oand  put  some  (\) 
°  heart  in  ye  !  [Watch  him  drink,  moving  slightly  to  and  fro, 
still  holding  up  the  bottle.]  °Can  your  learning  (\)  °tell  you 
what  |  "that  0is  ?  eh  !  [Put  the  bottle  back  into  the  pocket.] 
(\)  °Will  you  remember  my  errand  now?  [Nod.]  Ay! 
( — )  then    tell    Colonel   Mannering,  |  if  °ever  he    owed  a 


IMPERSONATIONS.  157 

debt  |  to  the  house  |  of  Ellangowah,  |  (/)  and  hopes  to  see 
it  °prosper,  to  come  (\)  "instantly,  |  armed,  and  °well  0at- 
tended,  |  to  the  glen,  below  the  tower  of  °Derncleugh ;  and 
°fail  not  |  on  his  life!  ( — )  You  know  the  spot !  0You  (\) 
°know  the  spot!  (\)  Ay,  Abel  Sampson,  |  there  |  blazed 
my  hearth  for  many  a  day  !  0and  °there,  beneath  the  wil- 
low |  that  hung  its  garlands  °over  0the  "brook,  |  I've  sat 
and  "sung  to  °Harry  0Bertram,  |  songs  |  (-  -)  of  the  old  | 
time.  (\)  °That  tree  |  is  °  wither' d  now,  |  never  | 
to  be  green  again;  (--)  and  old  Meg  Merrilies  will  never, 
° never  |  (\)  °sing  blythe  songs  more.  [Cross  over.] 
(--)  But  I  charge  you,  Abel  Sampson,  |  (--)  "when  the 
heir  shall  have  his  own,  0as  soon  he  "shall,  that  you  tell 
him  |  (^)  "not  to  Ofor°get  |  Meg  "Merrilies  ;  (--)  but  to 
build  up  the  old  walls  in  the  glen,  |  for  "her  0sake,  |  "and 
let  those  that  (/)  live  there  |  be  too  "good  |  (--)  Oto  fear 
the  beings  |  of  another  "world;  for,  0if  "ever  "the  0dead  | 
Ocome  back  |  among  the  "living,  |  °°I  |  "will  be  seen  in  that 
glen  |  ""many  a  night  |  (--)  "after  these  crazed  |  old  | 
bones  ||  are  whitened  |  ( \)  in  the  grave  !  0ha,  °ha  !  [Laugh 
and  stagger  back.] 

I  have  (\)  "said  it,  Oold  man !  ye  shall  see  him  Ga°gain,  | 
and  the  (\)  best  lord  |  "he  0shall  cbe"|  0that  Ellangowan 
has  seen  these  ( \ )  ° hundred  years.  ( — )  "But  you're  o'er  long 
"here.    "Away  to  Mannering,  0a°way !  or  the  heir  of  Ellan- 
gowan (/)  0may  perish  |  Ofor°ever  !  ""Away,  0away  ! 

[Exit  while  speaking  the  last  two  words.] 


For  sketch  of  Miss  Cushman,  see  Page  26. 

Costumb. — An  old,  ragged,  patched  dress,  a  faded  old  scarf  about 
the  head  (or  a  kerchief),  and  some  sort  of  socks,  moccasins,  or  low 
shoes,  all  of  the  gypsy  order.  The  gray,  tangled  hair  should  be  seen 
in  straggling  locks  about  her  face,  and,  in  Part  First,  a  forked  stick 
or  staff,  about  the  height  of  the  sjieaker.  For  Part  Second,  enter 
quickly,  and  strike  an  attitude  of  intense  surprise,  the  forked  stick 
grasped  tightly  in  the  right  hand  and  planted  firmly  before  you.  In 
the  playbook  the  costume  is  given  thus  :  "  Brown  cloth  petticoat 
and  body,  torn  old  red  cloak,  torn  pieces  of  plaid,  and  old  russet 
sandals." 


158  HELEN  POTTER'S 


HAMLET. 


From  "Hamlet." — Shakespeare. 


A  STUDY  OP  EDWIN  BOOTH  AS  HAMLET. 


Act  V.,  Scene  I. — A  Churchyard.    Enter  two  Grave-diggers. 

1st  Grave.  *  °Is  she  to  be  buried  in  Christian  burial  that 
wilfully  seeks  her  own  salvation  ? 

2d  Grave,  b  oI  tell  thee,  she  is*;  make  the  grave  straight; 
the  crowner  hath  set  on  her,  ( — )  and  finds  it  Christian 
burial. 

1st  Grave.  8  °How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned 
herself  |  in  her  own  0de°fence  ? 

2d  Grave,  b  0Why,  'tis  °found  0so. 

1st  Grave.  #  °It  must  be  se  |  offendendo  ;  |  it  cannot  be  else. 
For  here  lies  the  point :  if  I  drown  myself  °wit0ting°ly7  | 
it  argues  an  act ;  |  and  an  act  hath  0three  °branch~es ;  °it 
is,  0to  °act,  Oto  °do70and  to  |  0per°form.     °Ar0gal,  [=ergo, 
therefore]  she  drowned  herself  ( \ )  wittingly. 

2d  Grave,  b  0Nay,  but  hear  you,  Ogoodman  delver. 

1st  Grave.  *  (\)  °Here  lies  the  water;  Ogood ;  ohere 
stands  the  °mah  ;  Ogood.  If  the  man  go  to  this  °wa0ter,  | 
0and  |  ° drown  (/)  0him°self,  |  it  is,  |  will  he,  |  nill  Ife^  | 
he  goes  ;  0mark  you  that.  °But,  ( /)if  the  water  ( \)  come 
to  0hinf,  0and  °drown  0hiin,  |  Ghe  "drowns  Onot  him°self. 
Argal,  he  that  is  not  guilty  of  his  own  death,  (g.)0shortens 
not  his  own  life. 

2d  Grave,  b  oBut  is  this  (\)  °law  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °Ay,  marry  is't,  0crown°er's-(\  )°quest  law. 

2d  Grave,  b  0Will  you  ha'  the  truth  on't  ?     If  this  had 
not  been  a  gentlewoman,  she  should  have  been  buried  °out  | 
of  Christian  burial. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  159 

1st  Grave.  *  0Why,  (\)  °  there  thou  say'st;  and  the  more 
pity,  0that  °great  folks  should  have  °countenaiice  |  in  this 
world  |  to  drown  |  or  hang  themselves,  |  more  than  their 
even  °Chris0tian.  °Come,  °my  0spade.  There  is  no  ancient 
gentlemen  but  0garden°ers,  |  0ditch°ers,  |  and  °grave- 
0makers;  they  hold  up  (\)  °Adam's  profession. 

2d  Grave,  b  oWas  he  a  0gentle°man  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °He  was  the  first  |  that  ever  bore  arms.  I'll 
put  a  (\)  °question  to  thee :  if  thou  answerest  me  not  to 
the  purp*ose,  confess  thyself. 

2d  Grave,  b  °Go  Oto. 

1st  Grave.  $  °What  is  he  that  builds  0strong°er  |  than 
either  the  Oma°son,  |  oship°wright,  |  0or  the  °carpenter? 

2d  Grave,  b  0The  °gallows  0maker ;  |  for  that  frame  out- 
lives a  °thousand  0teuants. 

1st  Grave.  *  I  like  thy  wit  well,  in  good  faith ;  the  °gal- 
Olows  Odoes  °well.  GBut  °how  does  it  well  ?  °it  does  0well  | 
to  those  that  do  °ill :  0now  |  thou  dost  °ill  |  0to  say  the 
°gal0lo'ws  |  is  built  0strong°er  |  than  the  °church.  0Argal, 
the  Ogal°lows  may  do  well  to  °thee.  [Laughs.]  °To't 
a0gain ;  come. 

2d  Grave,  b  0Who  builds  stronger  than  a  mason,  a  ship- 
wright, or  a  °cavpenter  ?     [As  if  thinking  it  out] 

1st  Grave.  *  °Ay,  tell  me  that,  and  Oun°yoke. 

2d  Grave,  b  Marry,  (\)  °now  I  can  (/)  Jell. 

1st  Grave.  *  0To't. 

2d  Grave.    [Shakes  his  head.]  b  Mass,  I  cannot  tell. 

1st  Grave,  [laughs].  *  °Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it ; 
for  your  dull  ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  with  beating ; 
[laughs]  and,  °when  you  are  asked  this  ques0tion  °next, 
say,  a  °grave-0maker ;  the  °houses  0that  °he  0mak"es,  |  last 
till  °dooms0day.  Go,  get  thee  to  Yaughah,*  and  fetch  me 
a  stoupf  of  liquor. 

[Exit  2d  Grave-digger.  1st  Grave-digger  sings  and  grunts 
while  digging.     Usually  sung  without  accompaniment.] 

*  Yow'an.  t  Sloop. 


160 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


ft  In  youth,  when  1  did  love,  did  love, 
Methought  it  was  very  sweet, 
To  contract,  oh,  the  time,  for,  ah,  my  behove, 
Oh,  {ugh)  methought  there  was  nothing  meet. 
[Enter  Hamld  and  Horatio,  and  aland  behind  the  grave.] 
Ham.  0Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business  ?  he 
sings  |  at  grave-0mak°ing. 

Hor.  0Cus°tom  |  hath  made  it  in  him  |  a  property  of 
°easi0uess. 

Ham.  °'Tis  even  Oso :  the  hand  of  little  employment  | 
hath  the  daintier  |  sense. 

[Grave-digger  sings,  digs,  and  grunts,  and  throws  up  a  skull.] 


But     age,     with     all        his     steal  -  ing    steps.  Hath 


-b- 


-S— N- 


tei. i-^ — s ft — f 


:=ft-^: 


St 


rfe-R 


claw'd  me  in  his  clutch — a, 


-m — #- 

And  hath  shipped    me     in — 


--*-, 


— * — m Fg— far  i. — •  -•— *-F*--a— — ^  fl 

—  till    the  lands,   As     if    I  had  never  been  such — a. 


:=T 


J±± 


!E€#1iiiilIl 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


161 


Ham.  [picks  up  the  skull  and  soliloquizes  in  low  and  solemn 
voice].  That  skull  |  had  a  tongue  in  it  |  and  could  sing 
oiice.  How  the  knave  jowls  it  to  the  ground  as  if  it  were 
Cain's  jaw-bone,  that  did  the  first  murder !  This  might 
be  the  pate  |  of  a  politician,  |  which  this  ass  now  |  o'er- 
reaches  ;  |  one  that  would  circumvent  heaven ;  0might  it 
not  ? 

[  The  grave-digger  throws  up  bones.] 

Hor.  0It  °might,  0my  lord. 

Ham.  Did  these  bones  cost  no  more  the  breeding,  but  to 
play  at  loggats  |  with  them  ?  Mine  ache  j  to  think  on't. 
[Grave-digger  sings.] 


^-1 


Sfa 


3: 


--&• 


*-£*- 


pick 


— •-- 
and 


-whr* 


-0 — 


a      spade,     a     spade,    For- 


•-*- 


--IV- 


—  and      a  shrouding  sLeet — a: 


—  \/- 
0,     a    pit     of    clay  for 


lEfc= 


— ££ 


:&£ 


:p: 


I 


to 


be  made   For    such    a    guest  is     meet — a. 


fa=£ 


in 


-*H 


[Throws  wp  another  skull.] 


162  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Ham.  (--)  0There's  another.  °Why  may  not  that  | 
be  the  skull  of  a  0lawoyer  ?  (\)  ° Where  be  his  quiddits 
Onow,  |  his  "quillets,  |  Dhis  °cases,  |  his  0ten°ufes,  |  0and 
his  tricks  ?  Why  does  he  suffer  this  rude  knave  now  |  to 
knock  him  about  the  sconce  |  with  a  °dirty  shovel,  |  and 
will  not  tell  him  of  his  action  of  0bat°tercy  ?  oI  will  °speak 
to  0this  fellow.     °Whose  grave's  this,  sirrah  ? 

1st  Grave.  %  °Mine,  0sir. 

[Sings.]   |  o0h,  a  °pit  of  clay  |  Ofor  (\)  °to  be  made 
0For  such  a  °guest  |  Qis  °meet. 

Ham.  0I  think  it  be  thine,  in°deed ;  Ofor  thou  °liest  in  it. 

1st  Grave.  *  [digging].  °You  0lie  °out  Oon't,  °sir,  |  and 
therefore  |  it  is  not  yours ;  for  my  part,  |  I  do  °not  0lie 
in*t,  |  yet  it  is  mine. 

Ham.  0Thou  dost  lie  °in't,  |  {/)  to  be  in't,  |  0and  °say 
0it  is  °thme  :  'tis  for  the  dead,  not  for  the  quick  ;  Otherefore 
thou  °li0esr. 

1st  Grave.  *  Tis  a  °quick  0lie,  °sir ;  'twill  away  again 
from  °me  Oto  °you. 

Ham.  What  man  dost  thou  °dig  it  for  ? 

1st  Grave.  $  0For  (\)  °no  man,  sir. 

Ham.  0What  "woman,  0then  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  For  none  neither 

Ham.  °Who  |  0is  to  be  (\)  °buried  in't  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  One  that  °was  |  0a  woman,  °sir;  0but,  °rest 
her  soul !  0she's  °dead. 

Ham.  How  °ab0solute  |  the  knave  is !  We  must  speak  by 
the  card,  |  Oor  equivocation  will  undo  us.     0How  °loug  | 
hast  thou  been  a  (\)  °grave-maker  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  [leans  on  his  spade].  °0f  all  the  days  i'  the 
year,  |  I  came  to't  °that  0day  |  that  our  last  king  Hamlet 
overcame  Fortinbras.* 

Ham.  [asks  himself].     How  long  is  that  since  ? 

1st  Grave.  8  °Cannot  you  tell  that?    °Every0fool  (/)  can 

*  Fort'Inbra. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  163 

tell  that;  it  was  that  very  day  that   young  Hamlet  was 
born ;  he  that  is  mad,  and  sent  into  England. 

Ham.  °Ay,  0marry,  °why  0was  he  sent  into  England  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °Why,  |  c because  he  was  °mad.  He  shall 
recover  his  wits  there  ;  or,  if  he  do  °not,  'tis  no  great 
matter  |  0the"re. 

Ham.  (/)0Why  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °Twill  not  be  (\)  °seen  in  him  |  0thefe;    | 
there  |  0the  men  are  as  road  as  °he. 

Ham.  0How  °came  0he  mad  ? 

1st  Grave.  #  0Very  °strange0"!y,  °they  sliy. 

Ham.  "How  |  0strangely  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °  Faith,  e'en  with  losing  0his  °wits. 

Ham.  0Upon  what  °ground  ? 

1st  Grave.  $  0Why,  |  °hefe  in  Denmark.  (\)  °I  have 
been  j  °sex0ton  °heTe,  "man  0and  °boy,  |  thirty  years. 

Ham.  0How  °long  |  0 will  a  man  lie  i'  the  earth  |  ( \ )  ere 
he  rot  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  [sitting  on  the  side  of  the  grave,  his  face  toward 
the  audience;  speak  slowly].    °  Faith,  |  if  he  be  not  rotten  | 
be°fore  Dhe  °die,  he  will  last  you  some  °eight  Dye"ar,  |  Oor 
°nine  0year;  |  a  tanner  |  (/)  0will   last  you  |  °nine  0year. 

Ham.  0Why  °he  |  Omore  than  an°oth0er  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  °Why,  sir,  |  0his  °hide  0is  °so  tanned  0with 
his  °trade,  that  he  will  keep  out  water  |  a  great  while. 
[Stands  in  the  grave  again,  and  turns  over  the  earth  and  bones 
thrown  up;  slowly. ]  (\)  °Here's  a  skull,  |  now,  |  hath  lain 
you  i'  the  earth  |  three-and-twenty  years. 

Ham.  °Whose  0was  it  ? 

1st  Grave.  *  (\)  °Whose  do  you  (\)  °think  it  was? 

Ham.  ( — )  0Nay,  I  know  not. 

1st  Grave.  *  0A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  rogue  !  [Pats 
the  skull  with  his  hand  ;  laughs  all  along.]  °He  poured  a 
flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my  head  once !  °This  same  skull, 
csir,  J  0was  °Yorick's  0skull,  |  the  °king's  jester. 

[Gives  skull  to  Hamlet.] 


164  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Ham.  This? 

1st  Grave.  *  0E'en  °that. 

Ham.  0Alas  !  [soft]  °poor  0 Yorick  !  [Turns.]  I  knew  him, 
Horatio ;  a  0fellow  of  °infinite  Jest,  Oof  most  °excellent 
0fan°cy.  0He  hath  °borne  me  0on  his  °back  |  Ga  "thousand 
0times.  °Here  hung  those  lips  that  1  have  kissed  |  (q.) 
I  know  not  how  oft.  *° Where  be  your  gibes  now  ?  your 
gamBols  ?  °your  songs  ?  your  flashes  ( — )  of  merriment, 
that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar  ?  0Not  °one  ( — ) 
now,  |  to  mock  your  own  grinning  ?  "quite  0 chap-fallen  ? 
°Now  0get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  °and  tell  her  |  let  her 
paint  an  inch  thick,  |  oto  this  favor  |  must  |  she  come:  \ 
0make  her  laugh  |  0at  °that.  "Pr'ythee,  Horatio,  tell  me 
one  thing. 

Hot.  (/)  What's  that,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Dost  thou  think  that  Alexander  |  looked  o'  0this 
fashion  i'  the  earth  ? 

Hot.  {/)  0E'en  °so. 

Ham.  (/)  And  smelt  so?    pah!     [Lays  down  the  skull.] 

Hor.  0E'en  °so,  0my  lord. 

Ham.  To  what  base  uses  |  we  may  return,  Horatio  ! 
°Why  may  not  imagination  trace  the  noble  dust  of  Alex- 
ander, 0till  he  find  it  stopping  a  bung-hole  ? 

Hor.  G'Twere  to  consider  too  curiously,  to  consider  so. 

Ham.  °No,  0faith,  °not  a  jot ;  but  to  follow  him  thither 
with  modesty  enough,  and  likelihood  |  to  lead  it:  As  thus,  | 
Alexander  died,  Alexander  was  buried,  Alexander  returned 
to  dust ;  the  dust  is  earth ;  of  earth  we  make  loam ;  and 
why  of  that  loam,  whereto  he  was  converted,  might  they 
not  stop  a  beer-barrel  ? 

°Imperious  Casslif ,  dead  |  and  turned  to  clay,  | 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away ; 
Oh,  (\ )  that  that  earth,  |  (-  -)  which  kept  the  world  in  awe,  I 
Should  °patch  0a  °wall,  t'expel  the  winter's  flaw  !   [Bell  tolls.] 
(p.)  But  soft !  but  soft !  aside : — here  comes  the  king.    [End.] 
♦Breathe  "Ha!  " 


1MPERSONA  TIONS. 


165 


OPHELIA. 


PART  FIRST. 


From  "Hamlet." — Shakespeare. 


A    STUDY    OF    MME.    HELENA     MODJESKA. 


Argument. — Ophelia  is  the  youngs  beautiful,  and  pious  daughter  of 
Polonius,  lord  chamberlain  to  the  King-  of  Denmark.  Hamlet  fell 
in  love  with  her,  but  marriage  being  inconsistent  with  his  ideas  of 
vengeance,  he  affected  madness  ;  this  so  wrought  upon  her  that  her 
intellect  gave  way,  and  (in  Shakespeare's  "  Hamlet,"  1596),  while 
attempting  to  gather  flowers  from  a  brook,  she  fell  into  the  water 
and  was  drowned. 


Act  IV.,  Scene  V.— Elsinore.     A  room  in  the  castle. 
Ophelia  [without].  Where  is  the  beauteous  majesty  of  Den- 
mark ?     [Enter,  pause,  turn  right  and  left,  advance,  and,  in 
the  sweet  voice  of  melancholy,  sing.      With  clasped  hands,  move 
the  head,  limp,  in  a  half-circle,  backward.]      ^ — -" 

[Sing.] 


-&■ 


1**- 


IZ&L 


&=*=£££■ 


166 


HELEiV  POTTER'S 


$ 


=&=* 


i 


-FH=0±± 


-*— 0- 


ther     one?     By      his    coc  -  kle      hat     and 


-&- 


-jzL~i± 


3K£ 


%EgES*E^ 


=1 


I 


[iZofc?  wp  #?e  hands  as  if  about  to  speak,  and  wait.] 
[Speak.]  Say  you?  Nay,  °pray  Oyou  |  mark. 
[Sing  or  speak.] 
He  is  dead  and  gone,  lady, 

He  is  dead  and  gone  ; 
At  his  head  a  grass-green  turf, 
At  his  heels  a  stone. 
[Pause,  turn  about  as  if  addressing  the  Queen.] 
[Speak.]  Pray  you  |  mark — 


[Sing.] 


IMFERSONA I  IONS. 


167 


t|= 


=t 


zqp 


-<©- 


3B 


White     his  shroud     as    the  mountain    snow,     Lard  -  ed, 


_£***,_ 


:1 


m — i — ^3-— — ■ 1 b 


te^f^E^ 


-# »— 


1 


t=:=q=J=^z=i=: 


(5--*-^=: 


N^T 


-i=q 


£ 


i4-  - — h 


with      sweet    flowers,    Which    be  -  wept    tc    the  grave  did 


^r^rt 


£5 


w- 


£*-- 


m 


go, 


— 1- 


With 


true 
r-l- 


$s- 


0   igf- 

g — gl— 


*— B* 


love 


showers. 


:= z* 


IS 


r^ 


-f=2- 


i^n 


I 


&---*— f- 


m 


[Cross  over  as  if  to  speak  to  the  King,  and  put  out  hand.] 
[Speak.]  Heaven  shield  you  !     [Nod  confidentially  and  con- 
tinue.]   They  say  the  °owl  |  (/)  was  a  baker's  |  °daughter. 
We  know,  what  we  are,  but  know  not  |  what  we  °rnay  0be- 


168 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


[Turn  away  and  return.]     Pray,  |  let's  have  no  words  |  of 
this ;  "but  when  they  ask  you  what  it  means,  say  you  this: 

[Sing.] 


■#— 0- 


^Eg^^^^ggz^^zi^^^^ 


Good   mor-row,     'tis       St.    Va  -  Ientine's  day,     All 
-0-  '  -0-  *    0-    -%-  -0-    ■■+ 


§8-133 


J1— = 


duS 


«: 


your    window,        To      be      your    Va  -  len  -  tine. 


=# 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


169 


[Bow  low,  swaying  right  and  left ;  advance,  keeping  time  by 
graceful  dancing  ;  pause  ;  move  the  hands  before  the  eyes  as  if 
brushing  away  a  mist,  then  throw  up  the  hands  and  laugh,  as 
if  you  saw  something  mid-air,  and  was  reaching  for  it ;  pause, 
draw  back  of  hand  across  eyes,  and  shiver.] 

[Speak.]  I  hope  |  all  will  be  well,  |  0we  must  be  "patient ; 
[wrap  arms  close  about  the  body]  but  I  cannot  choose  but 
weep  [weep]  to  think  |  that  they  should  lay  him  i  the  cold 
ground.  [Shake  head.]  My  |  brother  shall  know  of  it, 
[turn  to  King]  and  so  |  I  thank  you  |  for  your  counsel. 
°Come,  0my  °coach !  Good-night  |  ladies,  |  [bowing]  good- 
night |  (\)  °sweet  0ladies !  °Good-[hold  "good'']  0night  | 
(g.)  good-night !     [Exit,  kissing  hands  to  them.] 

PART  SECOND. 

[Re-enter,  decked  with  long  wheat-straws  and  flowers.  Sob 
and  moan  softly  ;  then  sadly  sing.] 


z=zfc=±zt 


_  p — qpj: 


P i^_u_i —  _£ — p — £_:J 

bier;       And     in       his    grave     rain'd  ma-ny     a      tear; 


_K S 


a- g 


3t= 


^Ft= 


— #• 


-*— 


:t=: 


-q— . 


ill 

i 


170 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


-^ 


4=fcF3=«=3= 


:S 


mmmmpm 


For  bon  -  ny  sweet  Ro  -  bin    is     all      my   joy. 


I 


-=?—*- 


*r 


%M- 


~=5z8i 


-5-^-5. 


i 


-=1 — *■ 


i 


[Move  forward,  and  hold  out  flowers  to  someone ;  courtesy ; 
move  the  hands  through  the  air,  feather  motion.'] 

[Speak.]  Down-a-down,  an'  you  call  him  a-down-a.  Oh, 
how  the  wheel  becomes  it !  It  is  the  false  steward,  that 
stole  his  master's  daughter.  [Hand  some  flowers  to  one, 
saying.]  There's  rosemary,  |  "that's  Ofor  re°membrance ; 
pray  you,  love,  remember ;  and  [give  more  flowers  and  let 
them  fall,]  there's  pansies,  |  that's  for  thoughts.  [Half 
tohisper.]  Oh,  yes !  oh,  yes !  oh,  yes !  [running  down  the 
scale,  and  nodding  the  head  each  time.  Go  over  a  few  steps  and 
hand  herbs  and  flowers  to  the  King  ;  go  on  still  further  and  hand 
some  to  the  Queen.]  There's  fennel  for  °you,  0and  (\) 
°columbines.  [To  the  Queen.]  There's  rue  |  Ofor  °you, 
[pause]  0and  here's  some  |  for  me;  we  may  call  it  |  (/) 
herb  o'  grace  |  o'  Sundays.  You  may  wear  your  °rue  | 
with  °difference.  There's  a  daisy.  [Hold  the  flower  high 
and  look  at  it.]  I  would  give  you  some  violets,  |  but  they 
withered  |  all  |  0when  my  °father  °died.  [Weeping.]  They 
say  he  made  a  °good  0end.  [Sway  to  and  fro,  marking  time 
with  graceful  dancing-steps,  laughing  softly  all  the  time,'  then 
kneel  and  sing.     Rise  at  " his  beard"  etc.] 


1MPERS0NA  TIONS. 
[Sing.] 


171 


And    will 


<S> 

he    not    come 

~N 1 


Id 
:t=- 


gain  ? 


.-U— !- 


b£ 


:3: 


:*F 


-f— 


And 


=t=4= 


^^= 


i=n 


=F 


-£— 


TJizLzrAzn*: 


j=fe=z^ 


will       he    not 

re- 


gain. 


No, 


=1 


:=l: 


=3 1 '- 


=5 


%*- 


'  M 


rr 


^: 


z— fcfcz: 


=t 


-Z5t« 


^ 


i 


Hi 


ig 


==!=? 
-#3-^- 


q==!: 


no, 


he's    dead, 


5 


i 


=t 


1  — * 


-s>- 


Go      to 


3      B*     -sr 


It 


thy  death-bed,       He 

^ f 


172 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


:|=: 


•- K*-- 


nev    -    er      will        come 


±ee4e 


gain,. 


~l— ,— 


3* 


ifizzfastz: 


=* 


si 


-25f— 


Hi8 


a 


m 


-&>—■ 


beard . . . 


& — 

was      white 


t= 


* (Z^. 


snow,. 


~|— , 


-=]- 


=i=q 


-jg *~: 


All 


9 ghy 


Tfc" 


g=~5 


:q: 


flax 


his 


poll, 


-PV— 


Vr-t 


^ 


F==l: 


3H* 


:££ 


=t=r 


=t 


He     is 


^Sf: 


3g=S=; 


*= 


1 


1MPERS0NA  7  IONS. 


173 


"£* 


— 4— •- 


■frr 


:=P 


gone,    he  is  gone,    And  we    cast       a  -  way  moan,    And 


:=!= 


:=i: 


-eHfr- 


-25* 


I 


[Move  toward  door,  mid  sing  with  bach  to  audience.]  And 
with  all  Christian  souls  !  I  pray  heaven  !  [2&e&  Twrw 
head  and  shoulders  to  audience,  with  hands  heavenward,  and 
laugh  softly  as  you  go.] 


For  sketch  of  Mine.  Modjeska  see  Page  76. 

Of  Ophelia,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  says:  "There  is  no  part  in  this 
play,  in  its  representation  on  the  stajre,  more  pathetic  than  this  scene, 
which,  I  suppose,  proceeds  from  the  utter  insensibility  Ophelia  has 
to  her  own  misfortunes.  A  great  sensibility,  or  none  at  all,  seems  to 
produce  the  same  effent.  In  the  latter,  the  audience  supply  what  she 
wants  ;  and  with  the  former,  they  sympathize." 


Costume  and  Rendition.  —The  dress  may  be  what  you  please,  so 
it  be  youthful  and  simple.     Soft  gray  or  white  goods,  with  no  stiffness 


174  HELEN  PO ITER'S 

anywhere,  quite  plain,  or  delicately  ornamented,  is  sufficient.     The 
hair  is  flowing,  or  loose  and  caught  up  prettily. 

In  rendering  these  scenes,  assume  a  gentle  madness,  and  make 
sudden  transitions  from  sadness  to  lightness,  and,  in  one  or  two  in- 
stances, even  frivolity.  The  directions  herein  given  for  action  follow 
the  manner  of  Mine.  Modjeska,  but  not  literally.  Much  of  the  ex- 
quisite expression  and  action  cannot  be  written.  Her  rendition  of 
Ophelia,  once  seen,  can  never  be  forgotten. 


ALL. 


BY  FRANCIS  A.  DURIVAGE. 


There  hangs  a  sabre,  and  there  a  rein, 
"With  rusty  buckle  and  green  curb-chain  ; 
A  pair  of  spurs  on  the  old  gray  wall, 
And  a  mouldy  saddle, — well,  that  is  all. 

Come  out  to  the  stable ;  it  is  not  far, 
The  moss-grown  door  is  hanging  ajar. 
Look  within  !     There's  an  empty  stall, 
Where  once  stood  a  charger, — and  that  is  all. 

The  good  black  steed  came  riderless  home, 
Flecked  with  blood-drops  as  well  as  foam. 
Do  you  £ee  that  mound,  where  the  dead  leaves  fall  ? 
The  good  black  horse  pined  to  death — that's  all. 

All  ?  0  God  !  it  is  all  I  can  speak. 

Question  me  not, — I  am  old  and  weak. 

His  saddle  and  sabre  hang  on  the  wall, 

And  his  horse  pined  to  death — I  have  told  you  all. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  175 


DOGBERRY  AND  YERGES. 


A  Study  from  "  Much  Ado  About  Nothing." — Shakespeare. 


Argument  — Dog-berry  and  Verges  are  two  ignorant,  conceited  con- 
stables who  mutilate  their  words.  Dogberry  calls  "  assembly " 
dissembly  ;  "  treason  "  perjury  ;  "calumny"  burglary;  "condem- 
nation "  redemption ;  etc. 

Act  III.,  Scisne  III.— A  Street.      Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges,  with 
the  Watch. 

Dogb.  (/)  0  *  Are  you  good  men  |  and  true  ? 

Verg.  8  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  |  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dngb.  0Nay  °that  were   a  0punishment   |   too  °good  Ofor 
them,  |  if  they  should  have  any  0al°legiance  0in  °them,  | 
being  chosen  |  for  the  prince's  °watch. 

Verg.  $  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbor  Dogberry. 

Dogb.  0First,  |  °who  0thiuk  °you  |  the  most  Qde°sartjess  \ 
"man  |  Oto  be  °constable  ? 

1st  Watch.  Hugh  °Oatcake,  0sir,  |  or  George  °Sea0coal,  | 
for  they  |  can  0write  and  °read. 

Dogb.  Come  °hither,  |  Oneighbor  Seacoal.    °God(/)hath 
blessed  you  |  with  a  °good  0name;  to  be  a  well  °favored 
0man  |  is  the  gift  Oof  °fortune  ;  0but  to  °write  and  read  | 
comes  by  °nature. 

2d  Watch.  ( — )  Both  which,  master  constable — 

Dogb.  (\)  °You  have  ;  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer. 
Well,  |  for  your  favor,  sir,  0why,  give  °God  0thanks,  |  and 
make  no  °boast  oof  it ;  cand  for  your  °reading  |  0and  °writ- 
ing,  |  let  °that  0appear  |  when  there  is  no  °need  Oof  such 
vanity.     0You  are  °thought  0here  |  to  be  the  most  0sense- 

*  Dogberry  speaks  in  a  rough  or  guttural  voice,  and  puffs  ;  Verges  in  a  thin, 
high  and  sharp  voice;  2d  Watch,  nasal. 


176  HELEN  POTTERS 

°Ufs\  0and  °fit  man  |  Oforthe  °con0sta°b!e  |  Oof  the  °° watch; 
Othere°fofe,  |  0bear  °you  |  0the  °lantern.  °This  0is  |  Oyour 
"charge :  You  shall  °comQ'pre°hend  [  all  |  vagforn  j  "men  ; 
0you  are  to  bid  °any  0man  °stand,  |  0in  the  0prince's  °name 

2d  Watch.  ( — )  How  if  he  will  not  stand  ? 

Dogb.  DWhy,  then,  |  take  no  °note  of  him,  |  but  let  him 
"go ;  and  °pres0ent°ly  |  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together,  j 
and  °thank  0Grod  |  you  are  °rid  Oof  a  °knave. 

Verg.  S  If  he  will  not  stand  |  when  he  is  °bid0den,  (/)  he 
is  none  (/)  of  the  prince's  |  °subjects. 

Dogb.  °True,  |  0and  they  are  to  °ined0dle  |  0with  none  | 
0but   the  "prince's  °sub0jects.      You   shall    also  |  make    no 
Onoise  |  0in  the '  "streets ;  "for.  0for  the  "watch  to  0bab°ble 
oand  °talk,  °is  0most  "tolerable  |  0and  °not  to  be  |  0en°dured. 

2d  Watch.  We  will  rather  sle"ep  than  "talk;  we  know  what 
belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogb.  Wliy,  |  you  speak  [  0like  an  °an0cient  j  and  most 
°quiet  "watchman  ;  for  I  cannot  see  |  how  "sleeping  should 
Oof°fend ;  °on0ly",  |  have  a  0care  |  0that  your  °bills  0be  not 
stolen.    Well,  |  you  are  to  °call  |  0at  °all  0the  °ale  Ohouses,  | 
and  bid  those  that  are  °drunk  |  (\)  get  to  bed. 

2d  Watch.  How  if  they  will  not  ? 

Dogb.  0Why,  then,  |  let  them  alone  |  till  they  are  °sober; 
if  they  make  you  not  °then  |  the  better  °an0swer,  j  °you 
0may  °say,  |  0they  are  "not  0the  "men  |  0you  "took  0them  for. 

2d  Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dogb.  "If  Oyou  "meet  0a  "thief,  j  Oyou  may  0sus°pect 
0him,  j  0by  virtue  of  your  °of0fice,  |  Oto  be  |  "no  °true°man  ; 
0and,  for  "such  "kind  Oof  "men,  |  the  "less  Oyou  "meddle  Oor 
"make  0with  "them,  |  0why,  |  0the  "more  0is  for  your 
"honesty. 

2c?  Watch.  (-  -)  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we 
not  lay  hands  on  him  ? 

Dogb.  0Truly,  |  by  virtue  of  your  °of0fice,  |  Oyou  "may ; 
0but  I  "think  |  they  that  touch  "pitch  |  0will  be  0de°filed. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  Ill 

The  most  °peaceable  0way  for  you,  |  0if  you  °do  0take  a 
°thief,  j  0is  j  to  °let  him  0show  0him"self  what  he  0!s",  |  and 
°steal  out  of  your  °company. 

Verg.  $  You  have  been  always  called  |  a  °merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I   would  not  hang  a  dog  |  by  my  will ;  | 
much  more  a  man,  |  (--)  who  hath  any  (\  )  °honesty  in  him. 

Verg.tli  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  |  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse,  |  and  bid  her  °still  it. 

2d  Watch.  ( — )  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will  not 
hear  us  ? 

Dogb.  0Why,  °then,  |  depart  in  peacB,  |  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  |  0with  "crying ;  ( / )  for  the  ewe  |  that  will  not 
hear  her  lamb  when  it  °baas,  |  0will  °never  answer  0a  °calf  | 
0when  it  °bleats. 

Verg.  *  'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  °This  is  the  0end  |  of  your  °charge.  "You,  Ocon- 
stable,  |  are  to  present  |  the  prince's  own  "person ;  (/)  if 
you  meet  |  0the  °prince  {/)  in  the  night,  |  Oyou  may 
(\)  °stay  him. 

Verg.  t  Nay,  °by  'r  lady,  |  °that,  |  J  °think,  |  0he 
Ocan°not. 

Dogb.  (\)  °Five  shillings  to  one  °on't,  |  with  °any  man  | 
0that  °knows   |   0the   ° statues,   \  0he   may  (\)  °stay   him. 
0Mar°ry,  |  not  without  the  prince  be  "willing;  for,  (/)  in- 
deed, |  the  °watch  |  Oought  to  offend  cno  0mah ;  and  it  is 
an  Oof°fence  |  to  °stay  0a  °man  |  "against  his  °will. 

Verg.  *By  'r  lady,  |  I  think,  it  be  °so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  °Well,  omas°te?s,  (\)  good-night; 
0an'  there  be  any  matter  of  "weight  0chan°ces,  call  up  °me. 
Keep  your  fellows'  "counsel  |  and  your  "own,  and  (\)  "good- 
night.    Come,  neighbor. 

2d  Watch.  (-  -)  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge ;  let 
us  go  sit  here  j  upon  the  church-bench  |  till  two,  |  and 
then  I  all  to  bed. 


178  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Dogb.  [returning'].  (\)  °One   word   more,  0honest  neigh- 
bors ;  (/)  I  pray  you  |  watch  about  Signior  Leonato's  door; 
for  the  wedding  being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great 
°coil  Oto-°night.     Adieu ;  °be  vigilant,  I  0be°seech  you. 
[Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges.] 


LA  MUSICA  TRIONFANTE. 


BY  T.  W.  PARSONS. 


In  the  storm,  in  the  smoke,  in  the  fight  I  come 

To  help  thee,  dear,  with  my  fife  and  my  drum. 

My  name  is  Music ;  and  when  the  bell 

Rings  for  the  dead  man,  I  rule  the  knell. 

And  whenever  the  mariner  wrecked,  through  the  blast, 

Hears  the  fog-bell  sound — it  was  I  who  passed. 

The  poet  hath  told  you  how  I,  a  young  maid, 

Came  fresh  from  the  gods  to  the  myrtle  shade ; 

And  thence,  by  a  power  divine,  I  stole 

To  where  the  waters  of  the  Mincius  roll. 

Then  down  by  Clitunmus  and  Arno's  vale 

I  wandered,  passionate  and  pale, 

Until  I  found  me  at  sacred  Rome, 

Where  one  of  the  Medici  gave  me  a  home. 

Leo — great  Leo— he  worshipped  me, 

And  the  Vatican  stairs  for  my  foot  were  free ; 

And  now  J  come  to  your  glorious  land, 

Give  me  good  greeting  with  open  hand. 

Remember  Beethoven — I  gave  him  his  art — 

And  Sebastian  Bach,  and  superb  Mozart: 

Join  those  in  my  worship  !   and  when  you  go 

Wherever  their  mighty  organs  blow, 

Hear  in  them  Heaven's  trumpets  to  men  below. 


IMPERSONATIONS,  179 


BEATRICE. 


From  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing." — Shakespeare. 


A   STUDY    OF    MISS    ADELAIDE    NEILSON. 


argument. — Beatrice,  the  witty  and  beautiful  niece  of  Leonato,  Gov- 
ernor of  Messina,  meets  Benedick,  a  wild  and  witty  young1  lord  of 
Padua,  who  has  vowed  never  to  marry.  Each  is  made  to  believe 
the  one  in  love  with  the  other  ;  and,  beginning  in  raillery,  they  end 
in  true  love  and  marriage. 


Act  II.,  Scene  I.— A  room  in  Leonato's  house. 

Leonato.  Was  not  Count  John  at  supper  ? 

Antonio.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beatrice.  How  ( \ )  °tartly  that  gentleman  looks !  I  never 
can  see  him  |  but  I'm  °heart-0burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a  very  (\)  °melancholy  |  Odisposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  0ex°cellent  man,  |  that  were  made  just 
in  the  °mid0way,  |  between  him  |  and  (\)  °Benedick. 
0The  °one  |  is  too  like  an  image,  |  and  says  Onothing ;  |  and 
the  °  other,  |  too  like  my  lady's  eldest  son,  |  °evermore 
°  tattling. 

Leon.  ( — )  Then  |  half  Signior  Benedick's  tongue  |  in 
Count  John's  mouth,  and  half  Count  John's  melanchbiy  |  in 
Signior  Benedick's  face — 

Beat,  (q.)  [laughing'].  With  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot, 
uncle,  and  (\)  °money  enough  (/)  0in  his  purse,  |  such  a 
man  |  would  win  °any  woman  in  the  world,  |  (q.)  if  he  could 
[laughing]  get  her  good- will. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee  a 
husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue  ! 

Beat,  [sighing].  (/)  For  the  which  Qbless°ing,  |  I  am  at 


180  HELEN  POTTERS 

heaven  |  upon  my  knees  |  every  morning  |  and  evening. 
Lord,  I  could  not  en°dure  a  husband  |  (\)  °with  a  beard 
on  his  face  ! 

Leon.  You  may  light  upon  a  husband  |  that  hath  °no 
0beard. 

Beat.  (\)  °What  should  I  do  (/)  0with  him  ?  dress  him 
in  my  apparel,  |  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentlewoman  ? 
He  that  hath  a  beard,  is  more  than  a  yotrth ;  and  he  that 
hath  no  beard,  is  less  than  a  man  ;  and  he  that  is  more  than 
a  youth  |  is  not  for  me ;  and  he  that  is  less  than  a  man,  | 
°I  am  not  for  him. 

Ant.  [to  Hero].  Well,  niece,  I  trust  you  will  be  ruled  by 
your  father. 

Beat.  ( \ )  ° Yes,  faith ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
[courtesy]  courtesy,  |  and  Say,  "  Father,  [drawing  out  the 
wmds]  as  it  please  you ; "  [cross  to  the  right]  but  yet  for  all. 
that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  (\)  °handsome  0  fellow,  |  or  else 
make  another  [courtesy]  courtesy,  and  say,  "Father,  (q.)  as 
it  please  we." 

Leon.  °Well,  0niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day  |  fitted 
with  a  "husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  heaven  make  men  of  some  °other  0metal  | 
than  "earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  |  to  be  over- 
mastered with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ?  °To  make  account 
of  her  life  |  to  a  clod  |  of  wayward  marl  ?  °No,  0uncle, 
(\)  °F11  none:  °  Adam's  sons  are  my  brethren,  and  truly, 
(q.)  I  hold  it  a  sin  |  to  match  in  my  kindred.     [Laughing.] 

Leon.  Daughter,  |  remember  what  I  told  you  :  if  the 
Prince  do  solicit  you  |  in  that  kind,  you  know  your  answers. 

Beat.  The  fault  |  will  be  in  the  °music,  Ocousin,  |  if  you 
be  not  wooed  in  good  time.  If  the  Prince  be  too  impor- 
tant, |  tell  him  |  there  is  measure  in  everything,  |  and  so 
(\)°danceout  |  the  answer.  For,  ( \ )  °hear  me,  |  Hero;  | 
wooing,  |  wedding,  |  and  repenting,  {  is  as  a  Scotch  jig,  a 
measure,  and  a  cinque-pace-     The  first  suit  |  is  hot  and 


IMPERSONATIONS.  181 

(q.)  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  |  and  full  as  fantastical;  the  wed- 
ding, (\)  °  mannerly  0modest,  as  a  measure  full  of  state  | 
and  ancientry ;  0and  °then  |  comes  Ore°pentanco,  |  and 
with  his  bad  legs,  |  falls  into  (q.)  the  cinque-pace  |  faster 
and  faster,  |  until  he  sink  |  into  his  grave.  [Shake  the  head, 
and  cross  to  the  other  side.] 

Leon.  Cousin,  |  you  apprehend  |  0passing  |  °shrewdly. 

Beat,  [lightly  and  high~\.  I  have  a  °good  °eye,  0uncle;  I 
can  see  a  |  church  |  [laughing]  by  °day0light. 
[Exit  laughing.] 


THE   SEA  BIRD'S  FATE 


BY  JOHN  BOYLE  0  REILLY. 


A  soft-breasted  bird  from  the  sea 

Fell  in  love  with  the  light-house  flame, 

And  it  wheeled  round  the  tower  on  its  airiest  wing, 

And  floated  and  cried  like  a  love-lorn  thing ; 

It  brooded  all  day,  and  fluttered  all  night, 

But  could  win  no  look  from  the  steadfast  light. 

For  the  flame  had  its  heart  afar — 

Afar  with  the  ships  at  sea ; 

It  was  thinking  of  children  and  waiting  wives, 

And  darkness  and  danger  to  sailors'  lives. 

But  the  bird  had  its  tender  bosom  pressed 

On  the  glass,  where  at  last  it  dashed  its  breast. 

The  light  only  flickered,  the  brighter  to  glow ; 

But  the  bird  lay  dead  on  the  rocks  below. 


182  HELEN  POTTER'S 

PETER  GRAY  AND  LIZIANNY  QUERL.4 

My  song  is  of  a  nice  young  man 
Whose  name  was  Peter  Gray ; 

The  state  where  Peter  Gray  was  born 
Was  Penn-syl-va-ni-a. 

This  Peter  Gray  did  fall  in  love 

All  with  a  nice  young  girl ; 
The  name  of  her  I'm  positive 

Was  Lizianny  Querl. 

When  they  were  going  to  be  wed 

Her  father  he  said,  "  No !  " 
And  brutally  did  send  her  off 

Beyond  the  O-hi-6. 

When  Peter  found  his  love  was  lost 

He  knew  not  what  to  say ; 
He'd  half  a  mind  to  jump  into 

The  Sus-que-han-ni-a. 

A-trading  went  he  to  the  west, 

For  furs  and  beaver  skins, 
And  there  he  was  in  crimson  dressed 

By  bloody  In-ji-ins ! 

When  Lizy  heard  the  awful  news, 
She  straightway  went — to  bed, 
And  never  did  get  off  of  it 

Until  she  dT-i-ed. 

Ye  fathers  all,  a  warning  take, 

Each  one  as  has  a  girl, 
And  think  upon  poor  Peter  Gray 

And  Lizianny  Querl ! 


*LI-ze-anny  Kurl. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  183 


PRINCE  ARTHUR. 


A  study  from  "  King  John.'"  —  Shakespeare. 


Argument. —  King  John  conspired  with  Hubert,  the  keeper  of  young 
Prince  Arthur,  to  murder  the  boy,  and  Hubert  employed  two  ruf- 
fians to  burn  out  both  of  the  prince's  eyes  with  red-hot  irons. 
Arthur  plead  so  lovingly  with  Hubert  to  spare  his  eyes,  that  he 
relented  and  concealed  him,  pretending  that  he  was  dead. 

Act  IV.,  Scene  I. — Northampton.     A  room  in  the  castle.     Enter 
Hubert  and  executioners. 

Hub.  ( — )    0Heat  me  these   irons  hot;    and  look  |  thou 
stand 
Within  the  arras.     When  I  strike  my  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  |  rush  forth 
And  bind  the  boy  |  0which  you  shall  find  wi'  me  | 
(\)  °Fast  to  the  chair;  |  be  °heed0ful ;  |  hence,  |  and  watch. 
1st  Execu.  (gut.)  I  hope  your  warrant  will  bear  out  the 

deed. 
Hub.  (\)  °Uncleanly   scruples!    (\)   °fear  not   you;\ 
look  to"t..  [Exeunt  executioners.'] 

° Young  lad  |  come  forth  ;  I  have  to  (\)  °say  with  you. 

[Enter  Arthur.] 

Arth.  (p.)  °Good-morrow,  °Hub"ert. 

Hub.  (\)  °Good-morrow  |  0little  prince. 

Arth.  (p.)  °As  little  °prince  (\)  °as  may  be. 
(\)  You  are  sad. 

Hub.  0Indeed,  (\)  °I  have  been  ||  merrier. 

Arth.  (p.)  (\)  "Mercy  on  me  ! 
Me  thinks  nobody  should  be  sad  but  I. 
Yet  I  remember  when  I  was  in  France,  \ 
Young  gentlemen  would  be  sad  |  as  night  | 
Only  for  wantonness.     (\)  By  my  Christendom, 


184  HELEN  POTTERS 

So  I  were  out  of  prison,  |  and  kept  sheep,  | 

I  should  be  as  merry  |  as  the  day  is  long ;  j 

And  so  I  would  be  here,  j  but  that  I  doubt 

My  uncle  practises  °more  {/)  harm  to  me. 

He  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  |  of  °him. 

Is  it  my  fault  |  that  I  was  ( / )  Jeffrey's  son  ? 

No,  indeed,  |  it's  not ;  and  I  would  to  heaven  | 

I  were  °your  Oson,  so  you  would  °love  me,  °Hubert. 

Hub.  [aside].  0If  I  talk  to  him,  |  with  his  innocent  prate, 
He  will  awake  my  °mercy,  0which  lies  dead ; 
Therefore  |  I  will  be  °sudden  and  despatch. 

Arth.  (p.)  cAre  you   °sick,  |  °Hubert  ?    You    look   (\) 
°pale  to-day  ; 
In  sooth,    (  I  wrould  you  were  a  little  sick,  | 
That  I  might  sit  all  night  |  (\)  °and  watch  with  you. 
I  warrant  I  love  you  |  more  than  you  do  me. 

Hub.  [aside].  0His  words  |  do  take  possession  of  my  bosom. 
(\)  °°Read  here,  |  young  Arthur.     [/Shows  a  paper.] 
[Aside.]  0How  now,    |  foolish  "rheum  ? 
Turning  dispiteous  torture  |  out  of  door  ! 
I  must  |  be  brief,  |  lest  resolution  drop  | 
Out  at  mine  eyes  |  in  tender  womanish  tears. 
°°Can  you  not  0read  °it  ?     (/)  Is  it  not  fair  writ  ? 

Arth.  (p.)  (\)  Too  fairly,  Hubert,  |  for  so  foul  effect. 
(\)  °Must  you    [    with   hot  irons   |   burn  out  both  mine 
eyes?  | 

Hub.  0 Young  boy,  |  I  must. 

Arth.  (p.)  °And  0will  you  ? 

Hub.  °And  0I  °will ! 

Arth.  [plaintive].  Have  you  the  heart?  When  your  head 
did  but  ache, 
I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows,  | 
0The  best  I  had,  |  (0a  °princess  (/)  Owrought  it  me) 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again  ; 
And  with  my  hand  at  midnigh*t  |  held  your  head, 


IMPERSONATIONS.  185 

And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour,  | 

Still  and  anon  |  cheered  up  the  heavy  time 

Saying-,  °What  0lack  °you  ?  and  °  Where  lies  your  grief  ? 

Or,  °What  good  love  |  may  I  perform  for  you  ? 

Many  a  poor  man's  son  |  would  have  lain  still, 

And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you ;  | 

0But  °you,  |  (/)  0at  your  sick  service,  (\)  °had  a,  prince. 

°Nay,  |  you  may  think  my  love  was  ° crafty  love, 

( \ )  And  call  it  °cuuning ;  do,  an'  if  you  will, 

If  heaven  be  pleased  |  that  you  must  use  me  ill 

°Why,  |  0then,  |  jo\\°must.  (\)  Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes? 

These  eyes  |  that  never  did,  nor  never  °s£all 

So  much  |  as  (\)  °frown  on  you  ? 

Hub.  00I  have  sworn  to  do  it ;  | 
And  with  hot  irons  |  must  I  |  burn  them  |  out. 

Arth.  ( —~ )  Ah,  none  but  in  this  iron  age  would  do  it ! 
0The  °iron  Oof  itself,  tho'  heat  red-°hot,  | 
Approaching  near  these  eyes,  |  would  drink  my  tears 
And  quench  his  fiery  indignation, 
Even  in  the  matter  |  of  mine  innocence  ; 
Nay,  °after  °that,  |  consume  away  in  rust, 
But  for  Ocon°taining  0fife  |  to  (\)  °harm  mine  eyes. 
Are  you  |  more  stubborn  hard  than  hammer*  d  iron? 
An'  if  an  °angel  should  0have  °come  to  °me,  ( 
And  told  me  |  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
I  would  not  have  believed  no  tongue  |  but  °Hubert's  ! 

Hub.  °°Come  forth  !     [/Stamps.] 

[Re-enter  executioners  with  a  cord,  irons,  etc.] 
Do  as  I  bid  you. 

Arth.  [cries].   (  -  -)  °0h,  save  me,  Hubert,  °save  me  !  my 
eyes  are  out 
Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 

Hub.  (\)  °°Give  me  the  iron,  |  I  say,  |  and  °bind  him 
here. 

Arth.  (^^)  Alas,  why  need  you  be  so  boisterous  rough  ? 


186  HELEN  POTTER'S 

(\)  °I  will  not  |  °struggie,  I  will  stand  °stone  still. 

°For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  °not  be  °bo"und. 

(%)  Nay  j  °hear  me  j  °°Hubert,  |  °drive  these  men  away  | 

And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  |  (\)  as  a  lamb ; 

I  will  not  stir,  |  nor  wince,  j  nor  speak  a  word,  | 

Nor  look  upon  the  iron  angerly  ; 

Thrust  but  these  °men  0a°way,  and  I'll  for°give  you  | 

0What°ever  0 torment  ( )  you  do  put  me  to. 

Hub.  °°Go  stand  within;  let  me  (\)  °alone  with  him. 

1st  Execu.  {gut.)  I  am  best  pleased  to  be  from  such  a 
deed.  [Exeunt  executioners.] 

Arth.  0Alas,  |  I  then  (/)  have  chid  away  my  ° friend, 
He  hath  a  stern  look,  but  a  gentle  heart ; 
°Let  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may  give  life  to 
yours. 

Hub.  °°Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself ! 

Arth.  (-^   )  (\)  °Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

Hub.  °°None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Arth.  (~--')  Oh,  heaven,  |  that  there  were  but  a  °mote  | 
in  yours ; 
A  grain,  |  a  dust,  j  a  gnat,  |  a  wandering  hair, 
°Any  annoyance  |  in  that  precious  sense  ! 
Then,  feeling  what  small  things  (/)  are  °boisterous  there, 
Your  vile  intent  |  must  needs  seem  |  °horrible. 

Hub.  0oIs  this  (/)  0your  promise?   Go  to  |    (\)  °hold 
your  tongue. 

Arth.  °Hubert,  |  the  utterance  of  a  (\)  °brace  of  tongues 
( — )  Must  needs  want  pleading  |  for  a  pair  of  °eyes. 
Let  me  (\)  °not  hold  my  tongue,  |  °let  me  not,  |  Hubert; 
Or  |  Hubert,  |  if  you  °will,  |  cut  °out  0my  °tongue, 
So   I    may  keep  (\)    °mine  eyes.     [Kneeling. \     0  °spare 

mine  eyes ; 
Though  to  no  use,  |  but  still  |  to  look  on  °you.  (') 

(l)  Put  out  your  hand  to  touch  the  iron  and  withdraw  it  quickly. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  187 

[Surprised.]  Lo,  by  my  troth,  |  the  instrument  is  °cold,  and 

would  not  °harm  me.     [Rises.] 

Hub.  00I  can  °heat  it,  boy. 

Arth.    (\)    °No,  |  in  Ogood  sooth;    |  the  °fire  (/)  0is 
dead  wi'  °grief, 
Being  create  for  °com0fort,  |  to  be  used 
In  undeserved  extremes  ;  see  else  (\)  °yourself. 
There  is  °no  0malice  |  in  this  burning  °coal ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  |  hath  blown  his  °spirit  °out, 
And  strewed  repentant  |  °  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.  0OBut  with  my  breath  |  (\)  I  can  re°vive  it,  |  °boy. 

Arth.  {/)  0An'  if  you  do   |  you  will  but  make  it  blush  | 
And  glow  with    °shame  |  Oof    your   (\)   ""proceedings,  j 

Hubert, 
All  things  that  you  should  °use  |  to  do  0me  °wrong, 
(\)  °Deny  their  office ;  |  only  °you  |  do  lack 
That  mercy  |  which  fierce  °fire  j  and  (\)  "iron  0extends. 

Hub.  00Well,  |  see  |  to  live.     ( — )  °I  will  not  touch  thine 
eyes 
( — )  For  all  the  treasure  |  that  thine  uncle  owes. 
Yet  |  am  I  sworn,  |  and  did  °purpose,  |  Oboy, 
°With  this  same  |  °very  iron  |  Oto  burn  them  out. 

Arth.   [joyously].  0  !  now  |  you  look  like  Hubert; 
All  this  while,  |  you  were  0dis°guised. 

Hub.  [tone  of  secrecy].  Peace  !    no  more,  |  adieu ! 
( — )  0Your  uncle  |  must  not  know  |  but  you  are  °dead. 
I'll  fill  these  dogged  spies  |  with  false  reports. 
And,  |  0pretty  °child,  |  sleep  |  doubtless  and  secure, 
That  Hubert,  j  for  the  wealth  |  of  all  the  ° world,  |  will  not 
offend  thee. 

Arth.  (\)  °0  heaven!  (\)  °I  thank  you,  Hubert! 

Hub.  (Sh !)  0Silence  !  (asp.)  No  more;  (/Sh  !)  Go  closely 
in  with  me. 
0Much  °  danger  (/)  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  [Exeunt.'] 


188  HELEN  POTTER'S 


A  LITERARY    CURIOSITY. 


A  lady  of  San  Francisco  is  said  to  have  occupied  several  years  in 
hunting  up  and  fitting  together  the  following  thirty-eight  lines  from 
thirty-eight  poets.  The  names  of  the  authors  arej*iven  with  each 
line. 

LIFE. 

Why  all  this  toil  for  triumph  of  an  hour  ?  Young. 
Life's  a  short  summer,  man  a  flower ;  Dr.  Johnson. 
By  turn  we  catch  the  vital  breath  and  die,  Pope. 
The  cradle  and  the  tomb,  alas  !  so  nigh,  Prior. 
To  be  is  better  far  than  not  to  be,  Sewell. 
Though  all  man's  life  may  seem  a  tragedy ;  Spencer. 
But  ligh'o  cares  speak  when  mighty  griefs  are  dumb,  Daniel. 
The  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come.  Raleigh. 
Your  fate  is  but  the  common  fate  of  all ;  Longfellow. 
Unmingled  joys,  here,  no  man  befall.  Southwell. 
Nature  to  each  allots  his  proper  sphere,  Congreve. 
Fortune  makes  folly  her  peculiar  care.   Churchill. 
Custom  does  not  often  reason  overrule,  Rochester. 
And  throws  a  cruel  sunshine  on  a  fool.  Armstrong. 
Live  well,  how  long  or  short,  permit  to  heaven  ;  Milton. 
They  who  forgive  most  shall  be  most  forgiven.  Bailey. 
Sin  may  be  clasped  so  close  we  cannot  see  its  face ;   Trench. 
Vile  intercourse  where  virtue  has  not  place  ;  Somermlle. 
Then  keep  each  passion  down,  however  dear,   Thompson. 
Thou  pendulum,  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear.  Byron. 
Her  sensual  snares  let  faithless  pleasure  lay,  Smollet. 
With  craft  and  skill  to  ruin  and  betray    Crabbe. 
Soar  not  too  high  to  fall,  but  stoop  to  rise,  Massinger. 
.We  masters  grow  of  all  that  we  despise.   Cowley. 
0  then,  renounce  that  impious  self-esteem,  Beattie. 
Riches  have  wings  and  grandeur  is  a  dream.  Cooper. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  189 

Think  not  ambition  wise  because  'tis  brave,  Davenant. 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave.  Gray. 
"What  is  ambition  ?  'tis  a  glorious  cheat,    Willis. 
Only  destruction  to  the  brave  and  great.  Addison. 
What's  all  the  gaudy  glitter  of  a  crown  ?  Dryden. 
The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down.  Quarles. 
How  long  we  live,  not  years,  but  actions  tell ;    Watkins. 
That  man  lives  twice  who  lives  the  first  life  well.  Herrick. 
Make,  then,  while  yet  we  may,  your  God  your  friend,  Mason. 
Whom  Christians  worship,  yet  not  comprehend.  Hill. 
The  trust  that's  given  guard,  and  to  yourself  be  just ;    Dana. 
For,  live  we  how  we  can,  yet  die  we  must.  Shakespeare. 


A  PIOUS  PUNSTER. 


To  church  the  two  together  went, 

Both,  doubtless,  on  devotion  bent. 

The  parson  preached  with  fluent  ease, 

On  Pharisees  and  Sadducees. 

And  as  they  homeward  slowly  walked, 

The  lovers  on  the  sermon  talked, 

And  he — he  deeply  loved  the  maid — 

In  soft  and  tender  accents  said  : 

"  Darling,  do  you  think  that  we 

Are  Pharisee  and  Sadducee  ?  " 

She  flashed  on  him  her  bright  black  eyes 

In  one  swift  look  of  vexed  surprise, 

And  thus  he  hastened  to  aver 

He  was  her  constant  worshipper. 

"But,  darling,  I  insist,"  said  he, 

"  That  you  are  very  fair-I-see. 

I  know  you  don't  care  much  for  me, 

And  that  makes  me  so  sad-you-see." 


190  HELEN  POTTERS 

FOR  YOUR  OWN   SAKES. 


A   STUDY   OP   MISS   ANNA    DICKINSON. 


[Adapted  from  one  of  her  popular  lectures.] 

tHE  dwties  |  of  humanity  and  mercy  \  can- 
not be  delegated  to  Oothers ;  the  feeling  | 
of  personal  responsibility  |  cannot  be 
° shirked  ;  (-  -)  to  look  out  for  the  alms- 
houses, |  county  jails,  |  orphans,  |  out- 
cast and  aoaradoned  women,  |  belongs 
to  °you  |  (/)  0and  to  me;  and  must  be 
done  |  by  us,  |  for  our  own  sokes  |  as  well  \  as  for  the  sake  \ 
of  these  suffering  (/)  Qguilty  ones. 

There  was,  |  in  .London  |  (not  many  years  ago),  a  judge  \ 
whose  only  daughter  had  reached  her  °ma0^'or0ity";  this  day 
was  celebrated  |  in  a  grand  j  and  (\)  °prince\y  0maniTer. 
A.s  the  girl,  |  young,  |  beaut'\iu\,  \  clothed  in  a  dress,  |  which 
wen  in  °that  assembly  |  was  a  wonder  to  look  upon ;  as  she 
passed  along,  |  you  felt  °no  taint  |  could  fall  upon  °her  life,  | 
shielded  by  love,  |  and  a  °home  0like  °^a£. 

( — )  QBack  of  that  elegant  home,  \  in  an  alley,  \  dark,  \ 
noisome,  \  pestilent,  |  such  as  you  find  |  in  crowded  Phil adtl- 
phi'a,  |  and  °crowded  0New  York,  |  dwelt  a  girl  |  cdso  young 
and  oecratiful  j  °as  Jhis  °one.     She  spent  her  time  |  stitching 
the  ro&es  |  of  those  \  who  dream  not  \  Oof  °want.     This  cMd  | 
of  porerty  and  sorrow,  |  sUtch°d  \  into  that  one  \  lovely  robe  | 
the  seeds  of  a  foul  disease,  |  which  was  destined  to  carry  | 
that  cherished  and  oeawtiful  form,  |  °twisted  in  a  sheet,  |  Oto 
her  solitary  |  and  "loathsome  \  0buriaX.  ( — )° Was  it  nothing  \ 
to  the  fond  mother,  |  the  dotiug  father,  |  what  disease  and 
■misery  |  festered  |  in  adjacent  alleys  ? 

( — )  0For  the  sake  of  the  mother,  \  whose  son  is  brought 
home  |  killed  |  by  an  assassin's  ha'nd ;   |  °for  the  sake  of  the 


IMPERSONATIONS.    •  191 

merchant,  |  whose  stately  pile  |  is  burned  |  Ofor  plunder,  \ 
does  not  se£/ishness  demand  |  indiwcZual  work  |  and  per- 
sonal |  responsibility  ?  ( — )  Does  it  make  any  difference  to 
the  world,  \  who  does  the  work  |  so  long  |  as  it  be  done  f 
°iVb,  it  makes  no  difference  |  °to  the  Oworld;  "living  or 
0dead,  |  the  world  J  heeds  (/)  us  not.  But  to  us,  |  it  makes 
a  difference  |  as  great  |  as  the  distance  from  heaven  °to 
0h~ell,  |  whether  we  do  the  work  for  °our0se#5es ,'  |  whether  we 
feed  our  own  souls  \  or  0starve  °them.  ( — )  It  does  make  a 
difference  to  us,  |  whether  we  discover  and  recognize  |  the 
claims  of  righteousness  |  and  (\)  °uni^ersal  (/)  "brother- 
hood, |  or  whether  ( — )  we  wrap  our  cosily  |  robes  |  about 
us,  |  and  dream  ||  of  false  peace  |  and  °se0cw°rity. 


Mtss  Anna  Dickinson,  an  American  orator  and  writer,  was  born  in 
Philadelphia,  October  28,  1842.  She  was  originally  a  member  of  the 
Society  of  Friends.  She  gained  great  distinction  during  the  civil 
war  by  her  public  speeches  against  slavery  and  disunion,  and  became 
one  of  the  most  popular  lecturers  in  the  United  States.  She  after- 
ward appeared  as  an  actress.  Her  principal  public  writings  are: 
"Whit  Answer?"  (18(38);  "A  Paying  Investment"  (1876)  ;  and  "A 
Ri^g-id  Register  of  People,  Places  and  Opinions"  (1879). 

This  extraordinary  and  gifted  lady,  as  a  platform  celebrity,  was  a 
slender  girl  of  medium  size,  eloquent,  magnetic,  and  unsurpassed  in 
extemporaneous  oratory.  Her  lithe  figure,  long  arms,  and  luxuriant 
dark  In-own  hair,  slightly  turned  at  the  ends,  gave  her  a  dramatic 
appearance  to  begin  with.  Her  speech  was  marked  by  rising  inflec- 
tions at  the  end  of  sentences,  the  remainder  being  given  in  a  monot- 
onous tone  of  voice,  with  almost  rhythmic  prolonging  of  accented 
syllables  (see  italicized  syllables  in  the  text).  Her  action  was  pro- 
nounced and  also  rhythmic  or  accented.  Journeying  from  right  to 
left  of  the  platform,  with  a  halt  or  swing  on  each  measured  step; 
pushing  back,  now  and  then,  her  heavy  locks ;  her  eyes  flashing  as 
she  coursed  from  side  to  side  with  defiant,  accented  stride,  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her ;  or,  standing  still  and  resolute  as  a  Napoleon, 
and  pointing  at  a  wrong,  personified  and  cowering  before  her — she 
was  the  very  acme  of  fiery  eloquence,  and  brought  conviction  to 
every  heart. 

Costume  and  Rendition. — A  plain,  rich  black  or  Quaker  colored 
silk  dress,  demi-train  ;  black  boots  ;  a  diamond  pin  and  rings.  Her 
costume,  at  the  time  of  her  triumphant,  career  as  a  lecturer,  was 
remarkable  for  its  Qnaker-like  simplicity  in  color  and  style. 

This  text  is  adapted  from  a  lecture  by  Miss  Dickinson,  called  "  For 
Your  Own  Sakes."  It  should  be  delivered  standing  and  walking, 
with  no  desk,  no  manuscript,  and  only  two  chairs  in  the  rear  of  the 
platform. 


192  HELEN  POTTER'S 


THE  SISTERS. 


BY    JOHN    G.    WHITTIER. 


Annie  and  Rhoda,  sisters  twain, 

Woke  in  the  night  j  to  the  sound  of  rain. 

The  rush  of  wind,  |  the  tramp  and  roar 
Of  great  waves  |  climbing  a  rocky  shore. 

Annie  rose  up  in  her  bed-gown  white,  | 
And  looked  out  j  into  the  storm  |  and  night. 

(p.)  "  Hush,  and  harken  !  "  she  cried  in  fear, 
"  Hearest  thou  nothing,  |  sister  dear  ?  " 

[Carelessly.]  "  I  hear  the  sea,  |  and  the  plash  of  rain, 
And  roar  of  the  north-east  hurricane. 

"  Get  thee  back  to  the  bed  so  warm, 
No  good  cornea  |  of  watching  a  storm  ; 

"  What  is  it  to  thee,  I  fain  would  know, 

That  waves  are  roaring  |  and  wild  winds  blow  ? 

"  No  lover  of  thine's  afloat  |  to  miss  | 
The  harbor-lights  |  on  a  night  like  this." 

(p.)  "But  I  heard  a  °voice  cry  out  °my  name, 
Up  from  the  sea  |  oil  the  wind  it  came  ! 

l{  Twice  and  thrice  |  have  I  heard  it  call, 

And  the  voice  |  is  the  voice  of  |  Estwick  Hall !  "    . 

On  her  pillow  the  sister  tossed  her  head. 
[Impatiently.']  "Hall  of  the  Heron  is  °safe,"  she  said. 

"  In  the  tautest  schooner  that  ever  swam 
He  rides  at  anchor  in  Anisquam. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  193 

"  And,  if  in  peril  from  swamping  sea 

Or  lee  shore  rocks,  |  would  he  call  on  thee  ?  " 

But  the  girl  heard  only  the  wind  and  tide, 

And  wringing  her  small,  white  hands,  she  cried: 

[Terror.]  "0  sister  Rhoda,  there's  something  wrong; 
I  hear  it  again,  so  'loud  and  long. 

(  ' )  "  Annie  !  Annie  !    I  hear  it  call, 

And  the  voice  |  is  the  voice  of  |  Estwick  Hall !  " 

Up  sprang  the  elder,  with  eyes  aflame, 

"  °Thou  liest !  He  never  would  call  °thy  name  ! 

"  If  he  °did,  |  I  would  pray  the  wind  and  sea 
To  keep  him  °forever  from  thee  |  and  me  !  " 

Then  out  of  the  sea  blew  a  °dreadful  Jblast; 
Like  the  cry  of  a  dying  man  |  it  passed. 

The  young  girl  hushed  on  her  lips  a  groan, 
But  through  her  tears  |  a  strange  light  shone  — 

The  solemn  joy  of  her  heart's  release 
To  own  and  cherish  its  love  |  in  peace. 

(asp.)  "Dearest!"  |  she  whispered,  under  breath,  (a) 
"  Life  was  a  lie;  |  but  true  is  death. 

"  The  love  I  hid  from  myself  away 

Shall  °crown  me  now  |  in  the  light  of  day. 

"  My  ears  shall  never  |  to  wooer  list, 
Never  |  by  lover  |  my  lips  be  kissed. 

"  °Sacred  to  4liee  |(3)aml  °hence0forth, 
Thou  in  heaven  J  and  I  |  on  earth  !  " 


(*)  "  Annie  "  should  be  prolonged,  running'  up  two  or  three  notes  and  down 
again,  in  imitation  of  the  roar  of  the  sea  or  of  wind,  and  in  low,  steady  tone  of 
voice,  minor  key.     Repeat,  letting  the  sound  die  out  with  the  exhausted  breath. 

(2)  Hands  pressed  to  the  bosom. 

(3)  liight  hand  heavenward  on  "thee." 


194  HELEN  P0T1EKS 

She  came  and  stood  by  her  sister's  bed : 

( — )  "  QHall  of  ike  Htron  is  dtad !  "  she  said. 

"  The  wind  and  the  waves  their  work  have  done. 
We  shall  see  him  no  more  |  beneath  the  sun. 

"  Little  will  reck  that  heart  of  °thine, 

It  loved  him  °not  |  with  a  love 'like  mine; 

"  I,  |  for  °his  sake,  |  were  he  but  he~re, 
Could  hem  and  "broider  thy    |  bridal  gear, 

"  Though  hands  should  tremble  j  and  eyes  be  wet, 
And  stitch  for  stitch  |  in  my  heart  be  set. 

"  But  now  |  my  soul  with  °his  soul  I  wSd ; 
Thine  the  living  |  and  mine  ( 4 )  the  dead !  " 


AT  EYENING. 


BY  J.  T.  NEWCOMB. 


The  sun  had  kissed  the  Western  wave,  and  bade  the  world 

good-night, 
While  in  the  sky  the  floating  clouds  hung  blushing  at  the 

sight. 

The  playful  ripples  dancing  came  from  out  the  mighty  sea, 
And  paused  a  moment  on  i\\e  sands,  and   kissed   them 
tenderly. 

The  gentle  evening  breezes  sighed  among  the  bowlders  bare, 
And  kissed  their  loneliness  away  and  lingered  fondly  there. 

A  youth  beside  a  maiden  walked  (I  tell  no  wondrous  deed) 
When    twilight    shadows    kissed    the   shore   he   followed 
nature's  lead. 

(*  )  Hands  clasped  and  hanging  down  limp  as  in  resignation. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  195 


LECTURE  ON  ART. 


A     STUDY     OP     OSCAR     WILDE. 


(__)  Everything  made  by  the  hand  of  man  |  is  either 
0ug°ly  |  or  (/)  0beauti°i'ul ;  (--)  and  it  might  as  well  be 
beautiful  as  (/)  0ug°ly.  (--)  Nothing  that  is  made  |  is 
°too  Opoor  [pooah],  |  or  °too  (/)  0trivi°al,  |  (--)  to  be  made 
with  an  idea  [ideah],  |  of  pleasing  the  aesthetic  0eye.         , 

°Americans,  |  0as  a  class,  |  °are  not  (/)  0practical, 
( — )  though  you  may  laugh  |  at  the  (/)  Oassertion. 
( — )  When  I  enter  [entah]  |  a  room,  |  I  see  a  carpet  of 
(\)  vulgar  [vulgah]  (/)  0pattern,  |  ( — )  a  cracked  plate 
upon  the  (/)  0wall,  |  ( — )  with  a  peacock  feather  stuck 
°be0hind  °it.  ( — )  I  sit  down  |  upon  a  badly  glued  |  ma- 
chine-made (/)  0chair  [chaah],  |  that  creaks  |  upon  being 
(/)  Otouched ;  |  ( — )  I  see  |  a  gaudy  gilt  horror,  |  in  the 
shape  |  of  a  (/)  omirror,  |  ( — )  and  a  cast-iron  monstros- 
ity |  for  a  °chande0lier.  ( — )  Everything  I  see  |  was  made 
to  {/)  0sell  ( — )  I  tarn  to  look  for  the  beauties  of  nature 
[natyah]  |  in  (/)  vain;  |  ( — )  for  I  behold  only  muddy 
streets  |  and  (\)  ugly  (/)  0build°ings;  (- -)  everything 
looks  ( \ )  second  ( / )  class.  (-  -)  By  second  class  |  I  mean  | 
that  |  which  constantly  decreases  °in  (/)  0value.  ( — )  The 
old  Gothic  cathedral  is  firmer  [firmah]  and  (/)  stronger 
[strongah],  |  and  more  [moahj  beautiful  Onow  |  than  it 
was  |  years  |  [yeahs]  (/)  0ago.  ( — )  There  is  one  thing 
worse  |  than  °no  (/)  0art  |  and  that  is  j  0bad  °art. 

( — )  A  good  rule  to  follow  |  in  a  house  |  is  to  have  noth- 
ing therein  |  but   what   is   useful   |  or  (/)    0beautiful  ;  | 
( — )  nothing  that  is  not  pleasant  to  use,  |  or  was  not  a 
pleasure  |  to  the  one  |  who  (/)  0made  °it.     ( — )  Allow  no 
machine-made   ornaments    |    in   the   house    |    at  (/)  0all. 


196  HELEN  POTTER'S 

(--)  Don't  paper  your  [youah]  halls,  |  but  have  them 
(/)  Owain°scoted,  |  or  provided  |  with  a  (/)  Odado. 
( — )  Don't  hang  them  with  pictures,  |  as  they  are  only  | 

(/)    0passage-°ways.      ( )    Have    some    definite    idea 

[ideah],    |    of  Ocolor    [culahj,  (--)  some    dominant    |    key- 
note |  of  (/)0color  [culah],( — )  or  exquisite  gra0da°tion,  | 
like  the  answering  calls  |  in  a  symphony  |  of  (/)  omusic. 
There   are  symphonies  |  of  color   [culahj,  |  as  (\)  well   as 
of  |  (/)  Osound.     I  will  describe  j  one  of  Mr.  Whistler's  | 
symphonies  in  color — ( — )  a  symphony  |  in  white.     A  pic- 
ture [pictchah],  representing  |  a  gray  and  white  sky  [skei]; 
a  gray  sea,  flecked  with  the  white  crests  of  (\)  °dancing 
(/)  0 waves ;  |  a  white  (/)  Obalco°ny  |  with  two  little  chil- 
dren in  white,  |  leaning   over  [ovah]  the  (/)  0rail°ing,  | 
( — )  plucking  |  with  white   (/)  0fingera   [finggahs],  |  the 
white  petals  |  of  an  almond  tree  |  ( / )  in  bloom. 

( — )  The  truths  of  art  ]  cannot  |  ( /)  be  taught.  ( — )  They 
are  revealed  |  only  |  to  natures  [inltyahs]  which  have  made 
themselves  receptive  |  of  all  |  (\)  °beautiful  (/)  impres- 
sions [  by  the  study,  |  and  the  worship  of  |  all  |  beautiful  | 
{/)  0thiugs.  ( — )  Don't  take  your  [youah]  critic  |  as  any 
sure  [shuah]  test  |  of  (/)  0art ;  for  artists,  |  like  the  Greek 
gods,  |  are  only  revealed  |  to  one  (/)  Oanother  [auothah]. 
The  true  critic  |  addresses  |  °7zo£the  (/)0artist  |  (/)exer,  \ 
but  the  public.  His  work  |  is  with  (/)  0them.  Art  |  can 
have  no  other  [othah]  aim  |  but  her  own  °per0fec°tion. 

( — )  Love  art  |  for  its  own  sake,  |  and  then  |  all  these 
things  |  shall  be  (/)  0added  °to  you.  ( — )  This  devotion 
to  beauty  |  and  to  the  creation  of  beautiful  things,  |  is  the 
test  |  of  all  |  great  |  Ocivili0za0tions.  ( — )  It  is  what  makes 
the  life  |  of  each  citizen  |  a  sacrament  |  and  °not  |  a  uspec- 
u0la°tion  ;  for  beauty  |  is  the  only  thing  |  time  |  cannot 
harm.  Philosophies  may  fall  away  |  °like  the  (/)  0sand ; 
creeds  |  follow  one  °an0oth°er;  |  but  what  is  beautiful  |  is 
a  joy  for   all    seasons,  a   possession  |  for   all  |  °e0ter°nity. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  197 

(--)  National  hatreds  |  are  always  strongest  |  where  cul- 
ture [cultchah]  |  is  (/)  Olowest ;  but  art  |  is  an  empire  [ 
which  a  nation's  enemies  |  cannot  |  take  (/)  Ofrom  °her. 

(__l)  We  |  in  our  Renaissance  |  are   seeking  to  create  a 
sovereignty  |  that  shall  °still  be  (/)  0England's  |  when  her 
yellow  leopards  |  are  weary  of  wars  [wahs],  |    (--)  and  the 
rose  |  on  her  shield  |  is  crimsoned  °no  (/)0more  [moah]  | 
with   the   blood    |    of  (/)    0bat°tle.      And   °you,  |  Otoo,  j 
(-  -)  absorbing  |  into  the  heart  of  a  great  people  |  this  per- 
vading  artistic   (/)  0spirit,  will  create  for  your-  [youah] 
selves  |  °such  0  riches  [  as  you  have  never  [nevah]  yet    | 
°cre0a°ted,  |  though  your    [youah]  land  |  be  a  network  of 
(/)  0railways,  |  and  your  [youah]  cities  |  the  harbors  |  of 
the  galleys  |  of  the  (/)  0 world. 


Oscar  Wilde,  an  Irish  poet,  a  son  of  Sir  William  Wilde,  was 
born  in  Dublin,  October  16,  1856.  He  studied  at  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  and  at  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  where  he  was  graduated 
in  1878.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Ruskin,  and  the  friend  and  travelling 
companion  of  Prof.  Mahaffy,  with  whom  he  visited  Greece.  After  his 
college  days  he  became  noted  as  an  apostle  of  sestheticism  in  dress, 
manners,  and  literature.  He  was  christened  Oscar  O'Flahertie  Fingal 
Wills. 

Costume. — A  dark  purple  velvet  sack  coat,  and  knee-breeches; 
black  hose,  low  shoes  with  bright  buckles  ;  coat  lined  with  lavender 
satin,  a  frill  of  rich  lace  at  the  wrists  and  for  tie-ends  over  a  low 
turn-down  collar  ;  hair  long,  and  parted  in  the  middle,  or  all  combed 
over.  Enter  with  a  circular  cavalier  cloak  over  the  shoulder.  The 
voice  is  clear,  easy,  and  not  forced.  Change  pose  now  and  then, 
the  head  inclining  toward  the  strong  foot,  and  keep  a  general  appear- 
ance of  repose. 

This  disciple  of  true  art  speaks  very  deliberately,  and  his  speech 
is  marked  by  transitions,  as  marked  by  the  small  signs  (0)  (°) 
throughout  the  text ;  the  closing  inflection  of  a  sentence  or  period  is 
ever  upward. 


198  HELEN  POTTER'S 


IKE  PARTINGTON  AFTER  THE  OPERA. 


Note. — The  following-  sketch  can  be  made  very  amusing  by  imitating 
the  manner  of  an  opera-singer.  Suit  your  own  voice  as  to  the 
manner  of  rendering  it.  Tenor,  contralto,  or  basso  will  do,  but  not 
soprano,  unless  you  substitute  an  opera-mad  girl  for  Ike.  Sing 
softly  at  tirst,  and  vary  the  style  and  expression  ;  at  the  same  time 
increase  in  action  and  force  to  the  very  last.  An  anti-climax  would 
spoil  it  entirely.  The  more  you  repeat  and  trill,  or  attempt  to 
trill,  toward  the  close,  the  better. 

Since  the  night  when  Ike  went  to  the  opera,  he  has  been 
"  non  pompous  mentus  "  through  his  attempt  to  imitate  the 
"  Opera-tions."  The  morning  after  the  opera,  Ike  sang 
everything  he  had  to  say — just  as  they  do  in  the  opera. 
He  handed  me  his  cup,  and  sang  softly  : 

(pp.)  "Will  you,  will  you,  Mrs.  P., 
Help  me  to  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  he  went  right  on 
singing : 

[Brilliant.]  "Do  not,  do  not  keep  me  waiting, 
Do  not,  pray,  be  hesitating ; 
I  am  anxious  to  be  drinking, 
So  pour  out  as  quick  as  winking." 
I  gave  him  the  tea,  and  he  stirred  it  a  moment  and  began 
again  : 

[Recitative.]  "  Table-cloths  and  cups  and  saucers, 

Good  white  bread  and  active  jaws,  sirs, 
Tea,  Gunpowder  and  Souchong, 
Sweet  enough,  but  not  too  strong." 
"  Oh,  what  is  the  matter,"  I  cried  in  distress ;  "  what  is 
the  matter  with  the  boy  ?  " 

[Tenor.]    "All  right,  steady,  never  clearer, 
Never  loved  a  breakfast  dearer ; 


IMPERSONATIONS.  199 

[Dramatic]    I'm  not  bound  by  witch  or  wizzard, 
So  don't  fret  your  precious  gizzard." 
"  But  Isaac  !  Isaac  !  "  I  cried.     He  kept  right  on — with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  table  : 

[Tenor.]    "What  form  is  that  to  me  appearing? 

Is  ifc  mackerel,  or  is  it  herring  ? 
[Robust.]      Let  me  dash  upon  it,  quick ; 

Ne'er  again  that  fish  shall  kick. 
[Dramatic]    Charge  upon  it,  charge,  Isaac,  charge  !  " 


APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  WATERMELON, 


Come  to  the  mortal  as  he  sits 

Upon  a  drygoods  box  and  sips 

The  nectar  from  thy  juicy  lips ; 

Come  to  the  youngster  as  he  flits 
Across  the  high  and  peaked  fence 
And  moves  with  ecstacy  intense 

Thy  charms  from  off  the  native  vine. 

And  thou  art  terrible  ! 

0  August-born  monstrosity ! 

Incarnate  colicosity ! 
Beneath  thy  emerald  bosom  glow, 

Like  glittering  bubbles  in  the  wine, 
The  lurid  fires  of  deadly  woe, 
And  from  thy  fascinations  grow 
The  pain,  the  cramp,  the  pang,  the  throe- 
And  all  we  fear  or  dream  or  know 

Of  agony  is  thine  ! 


200  HELEN  POTTER'S 

AFTER  THE  WEDDING. 


BY   WILLIAM   L.    KEESE. 


Note. —  A  lady  can  make  an  effective  and  showy  monologue  of  this 
poem  by  being-  dressed  as  if  just  from  a  wedding,  wraps  and  all, 
and  proceeding  (  during  the  recitation )  to  throw  off  articles  of  ap- 
parel and  ornaments,  finally  lowering  the  lights  and  sinking  into 
a  deep  revery. 

All  alone  in  my  room,  at  last ! 

I  wonder  how  far  they  have  travelled  now  ? 
They'll  be  far  away  when  the  night  is  past ; 

And  so  would  I,  if  I  knew  but  how. 
How  lovely  she  looked  in  her  wreath  and  dress ! 

She  is  queenlier  far  than  the  village  girls ; 
Those  were  roses,  too,  in  the  wreath,  I  guess  — 

They  made  the  crimson  among  the  curls. 

She's  good  as  beautiful,  too,  they  say ; 

Her  heart  is  as  gentle  as  any  dove's ; 
She'll  be  all  that  she  can  to  him  alway  — 

Dear !  I  am  tearing  my  new  white  gloves. 
How  calm  she  is,  with  her  saint-like  face ! 

Her  eyes  are  violet  —  mine  are  blue; 
How  careless  I  am  with  my  mother's  lace ! 

Her  hands  are  whiter,  and  softer,  too.  , 

They've  gone  to  the  city  beyond  the  hill, 

They  must  never  come  back  to  this  place  again ! 

I'm  almost  afraid  to  be  here  so  still, 

I  wish  it  would  thunder,  and  lighten,  and  rain ! 

0  no  !  for  some  may  not  be  abed, 

Some  few,  perhaps,  may  be  out  to-night; 

1  hope  that  the  moon  will  come  instead, 

And  heaven  be  starry,  and  earth  all  light. 

'Tis  only  a  summer  that  she's  been  here  — 
It's  been  tny  home  for  seventeen  years ! 


IMPERSONATIONS.  201 

But  her  name  is  a  testament  far  and  near,      '  \>{ 

And  the  poor  have  embalmed  it  in  priceless  tears. 
I  remember  the  day  when  another  came —    ■  .  i. 

There,  at  last  1  have  tied  my  hair  — 
Her  curls  and  mine  were  nearly  the  same, 

But  hers  are  lunger,  and  mine  less  fair. 
They're  going  across  the  sea,  1  know ; 

Across  the  ocean  —  will  that  be  far  ? 
Did  I  have  my  comb,  a  moment  ago  ? 

I  seem  to  forget  where  my  things  all  are. 
When  ships  are  wrecked  do  the  people  drown  ? 

Is  there  never  a  boat  to  save  the  crew  ? 
Poor  ships  !  If  ever  my  ship  goes  down, 

I'll  want  a  grave  in  the  ocean,  too. 

Good-night,  good-night  —  it  is  striking  one  ! 

Good-night  to  bride,  and  good-night  to  groom. 
The  light  of  my  candle  is  almost  done  — 

I  wish  my  bed  was  in  mother's  room. 
How  calm  it  looks  in  the  midnight  shade ! 

Those  curtains  were  hung  there  clean  to-day, 
They're  all  too  white  for  me,  I'm  afraid, — 

Perhaps  I  may  soon  be  as  white  as  they. 

Dark  —  all  dark  !  for  the  light  is  dead ; 

Father  in  heaven,  may  I  have  rest ! 
One  hour  of  sleep  for  my  weary  head,  ■'■'■ 

For  this  breaking  heart  in  my  poor,  poor  breast ! 
For  his  sweet  sake  do  I  kneel  and  pray, 

0  God  protect  him  from  change  and  ill ; 
And  render  her  worthier  every  way, 

The  older  the  purer,  the  lovelier  still. 
There,  I  knew  I  was  going  to  cry ! 

1  have  kept  the  tears  in  my  soul  too  long ; 
Oh,  let  me  say  it  or  I  shall  die  ! 

As  heaven  is  witness,  I  mean  no  wrong.  '. 


202  HELEN  POTTER'S 

He  never  shall  hear  from  this  secret  room, 
He  never  shall  know,  in  the  after  years, 

How  seventeen  summers  of  happy  bloom 
Fell  dead  one  night  in  a  moment  of  tears ! 

I  loved  him  more  than  she  understands  — 

For  him  I  loaded  my  soul  with  truth ; 
For  him  I  am  kneeling  with  lifted  hands, 

To  lay  at  his  feet  my  shattered  youth ! 
I  love,  I  adore  him  still  the  same ! 

More  than  father,  and  mother,  and  life ! 
My  hope  of  hopes  was  to  bear  his  name, 

My  heaven  of  heavens  to  be  his  wife ! 

His  wife  !  —  0  name  which  the  angels  breathe, 
Let  it  not  crimson  my  cheek  for  shame  ; 

Tis  her  great  glory,  her  word  to  wreathe 

In  the  princely  heart  from  whose  blood  it  came. 

0  hush  !  again  I  behold  them  stand, 

As  they  stood,  to-night,  by  the  chancel  wall ; 

1  see  him.  holding  her  white-gloved  hand, 

I  hear  his  voice  in  a  whisper  fall. 

I  see  the  minister's  silver  hair, 

I  see  him  kneel  at  the  altar  stone, 
I  see  him  rise  when  the  prayer  is  o'er  — 

He  has  taken  their  hands  and  made  them  one. 
The  fathers  and  mothers  are  standing  near, 

The  friends  are  pressing  to  kiss  the  bride ; 
One  of  those  kisses  had  birthplace  here  — 

The  dew  of  her  lips  has  not  yet  dried. 

His  lips  have  touched  hers  before  to-night  — 
Then  I  have  a  grain  of  his  to  keep  ! 

This  midnight  blackness  is  flecked  with  light, 
Some  angel  is  singing  my  soul  to  sleep. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  203 


THE  PASSIONS. 


BY   WILLIAM    COLLINS. 


When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  |  was  young,  | 

While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung,  | 

The  Passions  oft,  |  to  hear  her  shell, 

Thronged  around  her  magic  cell — 

0Ex°ulting,  trembling,  (/.)  raging,  (p.)  fainting- 

Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting  ; 

By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 

(/)  Disturbed,  0de°lighteS,  °raised,  °re0nned; 

Till  onCe,  'tis  said,  |  when  all  were  fired, 

Filled  with  fitly,  rapt,  inspired,  | 

(q.)  From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 

They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound ; 

(\)  °And,  0as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 

(/)  Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art,  J 

°Each  (for  Madness  ruled  the  hour) 

°Would  prove  his  own  |  expressive  |  power. 

{  ' )  First  °Fear  |  °his  nhand,  its  skill  to  try,  | 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  ( * )  laid, 
And  back  recoiled,  |  he  knew  °not  0why,  ( 3 ) 

E'en  at  the  sound  (\)  himself  had  made. 
(/.)  Next  Anger  rushed ;  his  eyes,  on  fire, 

In  °lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings  : 
(*)  (<0  In  one  rude  clash  |  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept  |  with  hurried  hand  |  the  strings. 

( ' )  Fear  expressed  in  aspirate  tones. 

( 2  )  Hold  the  I  in  "  bewildered." 

( 3  )  Let  "  why  "  end  higher  than  "  not  "  began. 

( * )  Final  explosive  stress  on  the  marked  words. 


204  HELEN  POTTER'S 

( s )  [Slow,]  With  woful  measures  |  wan  0De°spair, 

00Low,  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguiled — 
( — )  A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air ; 

[/Slow.]  'Twas  sad  by  fits",  |  (q.)  by  starts  |  'twas  wild. 
[Gay.]  But  °th"ou,  0  "Hope,  |  with  eyes  °so  fair — 

What  was  °thy  0 delightful  measure  ? 
(p.)  [Slow.]  Still  it  whispered  |  promised  pleasure, 
•  (/)  0And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  "distaifce  |  0Eail ! 
( — )  Still,  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong  ; 

And  |  from  the  rocks,  |  ihe  woods,  |  the  vale,  | 
She  called  on  °Ech~d  "still,  |  through  all  |  the  song ; 

And,  where  her  "sweetest  "thenTe  she  °cho"se, 

(p.)  °A  soft,  responsive  voice  |  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
[Gay.]  And  °Hope,  0en°cha1ited,  |  (-  -)  "smiled,  and  waved 

her  golden  hair. 
And  "longer  had  °she  sung,  ( — )  but,  with  a  frown, 

(\)  ""Revenge  impatient  rose  ; 
( — )  He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  |  in  "thunder  Odown, 

And,  |  with  a  withering  look, 

( — )  The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 

(/)  And  blew  a  blast  so  |  loud  |  and  dread, 

( — )  0Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe  ! 
(  And,  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 
The  doubling  drum,  with  furious  heat, 
(p.)  "And  though  sometimes,  (/)  each  dreary  pause  be- 
tween, 

(/)  Dejected  Pity,  ( — )  at  his  side, 

"Her  (/)  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 

( — )  Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  "un'altered  "mien, 
(Stac.)  While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  (7)  cbwr$ting 

||  from  his  head. 
[Slow.]  0Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  {\)°  naught  were  fixed — 


(•){ 


(  5  )  Kun  down  llvn  or  more  notes  on  "  desimir."  half  aspirate. 
(  8  )  Bring  out  Hie  accented  syllables  in  rhythmical  heats,  as  in  drumming 
(7)Bring  out  each  accented  syllable  with    explosive  1'orcc,  especially  on 
1  bursting." 


IMPERSONATIONS.  205 

(-  -)  0Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state  ; 
Of  °  differing  themes  |  the  veering  so"hg  |  was  mixed ; 

(p.)  0And   °novv  |  it  courted  °Love,  (/.)  now,  °raving,  | 
called  on  Hate. 
[Slow.]  ( — )  With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 
Pale  Melancholy  |  sat  retired  ;  j 
And,  |  from  her  wild,  sequestered  seat, 
In  notes  by  distance  made  °mo~re  sweet, 
Poured  through  the  mellow  tuSrti  |  her  pensive  s~oul ; 
(Slac.  q  p.)  °And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound ; 

( )    [Slow.]   cThrough    glades    and   glooms  the  mingled 

measure  stole ; 

f  Or  o'er  some  haunted  stream,  with  fond  delay, 
,„.  .     ,     Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 
v  Love  of  Peace,  and  lonely  musing, 

In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 
(9)  0But  °oh  !  Ohow  °  altered  was  its  °sprightlier  °tone  | 
When  (\)  °Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  (,n)  Wealthiest  hue, 

( — )  Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 

( — )  Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 
Blew  an  inspiring  air^  |  that  dale  and  thicket  rung  — 

( — )  The  hunter's  call  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known  ! 
(--)  °The  oak-crowned  Sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  Queen, 

Satyrs  |  and  sylvan  (")  °boys,  0were  °seen 

Peeping  from  forth  |  their  alleys  green  ; 

0Brown  °Exerci~se  |  rejoiced  to  hear  ; 

And  Sport  leaped  up  |  and  seized  |  his  beechen  spear. 
[Soberly.]  Last  came  °Joy's  0ecstatic  trial :         , 
He,  |  with  viny  ( / )  Ocrown  advancing, 

First  to  the  lively  "pipe  chis  hand  addressed; 

(  s  )  In  monotone,  every  line  lower  and  softer  to  the  end. 

(  9  )  llun  live  to  eight  notes  down  on  "  oh,"  "  altered,"  "  sprightlier,"  and  up 
as  much  on  "  tone." 

I  iu  )  "  Healthiest  hue,''  three  notes  down  and  three  up. 

(  lI  )  "  Boys  were  seen,"  run  down  on  "  boys,"  use  "  were  "  as  a  pivot,  and 
swing  upward  on  "  seen,"  making  a  cradle  (  —  )  ol'the  three  words. 


206  HELEN  PO  TTER  S 

°But  soon  he  saw  |  the  brisk  |  awakening  viol, 

Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  j  he  loved  the  best ; 
( / )  They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain, 

( — )  They  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids, 

( — )  Amidst  the  festal-sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  |  minstrel  |  dancing,  | 
(.Stac.)  While  |  his  flying  fingers  |  (^-)  °kissed  the  strings,  | 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  |  a  gay  fantastic  round  : 
(12)°Loose  j  were  her  tresses  seen,  |  her  zone  (—)  °un°bound; 

(/)  0And  °he  \  {/)  0amidst  his  frolic  play,  | 

As  if  he  would  the  charming  (— -)  °air  0repay, 
Shook  ( \ )  °thousand  |  odors  |  ( — )  from  his  dewy  wings. 

( \ )  °0  Music  !  sphere-descending  maid, 

°Friend  of  °Pleasure,  |  °Wisdom's  aid  ! 

(\)  °Why,  goddess!  |  why,  to  °us  Ddenied, 

( \ )  °Lay'st  thou  thy  ancient  lyre  |  aside  ? 

(/)  As,  in  that  loved  Athenian  bower, 

You  learned  an  all-commanding  power, 

Thy  mimic  soul,  |  0  nymph  endeared, 

Can  well  re°call  |  what  then  it  heard  ;  ( 13 ) 

°Where  is  thy  native  simple  heart, 

Devote  to  Virtue,  |  °Fancy,  |  Art  ? 

(\)  Arise  |  as  in  that  (\)  °elder  time, 

(/)  Warm,  energetic,  chaste,  sublime, 

Thy  wonders,  |  in  that  godlike  age, 

(\)  Fill  |  thy  recording  ( I4 )  sister's  |  page : 

(/)  Q'Tis  °said,  0and  I  believe  the  °tale— 

(\)  Thy  °humblest  Qreed  |  could  °more  °ppevail, 

Had  more  of  strength,  |  diviner  rage,  [ 

Than  all  |  which  charms  this  |  laggard  age. 

E'en  all  at  once  °together  Ofound  | 

( — )  Cecilia's  mingled  world  of  sound. 

( la  )  The  same  as  above  on  "  unbound." 
( 13 )  "  Heard  "  to  rhyme  with  "  endeared." 
( 14  )  Sister,  t.  e.,  history. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  207 

(\)  °Oh,  bid  our  vain  endeavors  cease, 
0Re°vive  |  the  just  designs  of  Greece  ; 
Return  |  in  all  |  thy  °simple  state — 
0Con°firm  |  the  tales  |  her  sons  relate. 

The  student  who  can  properly  read  this  "Ode  to  the 
Passions,"  can  read  anything  well,  since  all  varieties  of 
voice,  inflection,  rates  of  speed,  etc.,  are  required  to  render 
it  effectively.  It  is  well  worth  careful  study  and  continued 
practice.  It  can  be  made  for  readers  and  speakers  almost 
as  useful  as  is  the  scale  to  musicians. 

A  SERIES  OF  TABLEAUX. 

To  accompany  a  Reading  of  "  Ode  to  the  Passions." 


ARRANGED    BY  HELEN   POTTER. 


A  series  of  strong  tableaux  can  be  made  to  accompany 
the  reading  of  this  poem.  The  stage  should  be  arranged 
so  that  the  changes  can  be  made  quickly  and  without  dis- 
turbing the  reader.  A  couple  of  squares  of  plank  on  rollers 
would,  perhaps,  be  useful,  as  one  figure  could  be  posed 
while  the  other  is  on  exhibition  ;  else,  side  by  side,  two  sets 
of  screens  or  curtains,  to  be  used  alternately.  A  maroon  or 
very  dark  crimson  throws  out  a  picture  better  than  any 
other  color ;  hence  a  background  of  maroon  cloth  and 
screens  or  curtains  of  the  same  color,  are  an  absolute  neces- 
sity. Arrange  them  so  that  they  can  be  quickly  and  easily 
closed  or  opened,  by  means  of  strings  worked  at  the  side. 

Having  selected  the  persons  to  pose  in  the  tableaux,  re- 
hearse and  time  them,  to  ascertain  how  many  seconds  each 
one  can  remain  motionless,  just  as  they  are  posed  for 
exhibition. 

The  reader  advances  to  a  position  where  he  or  she  will 
not  intercept  the  views,  and  begins  to  read.  When  he 
arrives  at  "  Fear,"  in  the  second  stanza,  the  curtain  should 
open  noiselessly,  and  reveal  the  posed  figure  of  "Fear." 
At  the  word  of  the  text,  gauging  his  seconds  of  posing, 
close  the  curtain.  The  subject  should  still  remain  in  posi- 
tion, but  may  relax  the  will,  and  take  a  moment  of  rest. 


208  HELEN  POTTER'S 

If  recalled,  he  again  assumes  the  intent  posture  and  is 
again  exhibited  ;  if  not,  he  steps  down  and  out,  and  the 
scene  is  over. 

The  reader,  in  the  meantime,  follows  the  pulse  of  the 
audience  and  waits  or  continues,  as  he  perceives  a  need. 
When  the  third  stanza  brings  out  the  word  "  Despair,"  the 
tableau  of  "Despair"  should  be  shown.  In  this  manner 
continue,  until  the  entire  poem  has  been  produced.  Ap- 
propriate music,  serving  as  a  background  for  the  reader's 
voice,  adds  greatly  to  the  effect  of  this  most  artistic  per- 
formance. Any  good  local  musician  can  arrange  music  to 
correspond  with  each  of  the  Passions ;  and,  of  course,  the 
better  the  music  and  stage-settiiigsf  the  better  the  result. 


TABLEAUX. 

1.  Fear. — A  young  man ;  pale  ;  large,  open  eyes,  with  a 
general  look  of  surprise  and  uncertainty.  Dress. — 
Shapes*  and  tunic  of  pale  gray,  and  sandals.  Pose. — 
Side  view,  sitting  before  a  harp,  and  shrinking  back 
from  the  harp,  with  hands  repellent. 

2.  Anger. — A  man  ;  pale  ;  dark  eyes  and  hair ;  heavy 
eyebrows  ;  frowning  and  fierce,  with  set  teeth.  Dress. — 
Shapes  and  tunic  (or  doublet  and  hose)  of  cardinal  and 
black,  and  a  dagger  or  sword,  and  sandals.  Pose. — Side 
view,  standing  before  a,  harp,  and  leaning  forward,  in  the 
position  one  would  naturally  take  who  had  given  the 
strings  a  tremendous  crash,  and  was  about  to  repeat  the 
act. 

3.  Despair. — A  man  ;  tall,  slender  ;  dark  hair  and  eyes  ; 
dark  skin  ;  stooping  shoulders,  and  a  general  look  of 
misery  and  hopelessness.  Dress. — Shapes,  doublet  and 
hose  all '  black.  Pose. — Three-quarter  view,  sitting  or 
standing;  disheveled  hair,  one  hand  on  the  harp,  and 
the  other  to  the  drooping  head  ;  or,  with  fingers  through 
the  hair,  and  eyes  rolled  upward. 

4.  Hope. — A  young  lady  ;  long,  flowing,  yellow  hair ; 
slight  figure ;  a  bright  and  sunny  face.  Dress. — Long, 
loose  robe  of  pale  blue  (uplifted  thought)  in  Greek 
drapery,  with  bracelets,  armlets,  and  anklets  ;  or,  if  pre- 

*  Shapes,  close  fitting  silk  or  wool  kniL  garments  revealing  the  &hapo  of  the 
Jimbs. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  209 

ferred,  a  long,  straight  skirt,  with  a  very  short  waist, 
and  only  a  puff  or  cap  for  sleeves.  Pose — Standing; 
head  thrown  back,  gazing  upward,  with  a  smile  over  the 
whole  face,  as  well  as  upon  the  lips,  and  a  lyre  hung 
from  the  shoulders.  For  "  Echo,''  a  miniature  duplicate 
of  "  Hope  '  (dress,  style  and  all),  placed  within  the  pic- 
ture-space or  area. 

,  Revenge  and  Pity. — A  man  ;  a  decided  brunette,  ugly 
and  cruel  to  look  upon.  Paint  shadows  in  reds  and 
browns  about  the  eyes,  in  the  hollows  of  the  temples, 
back  of  the  cheek-bones,  and  down  the  cords  of  the  neck ; 
also  make  three  dark  lines  down  the  forehead  between 
the  eyes ;  and  mark  the  cords  of  the  hands,  and  a  spot 
below  the  "Adam's  apple,"  shading  it  out  and  down- 
ward. Dress. — Shapes,  tunic  and  cap,  all  red  (cruelty)  ; 
or  a  red  doublet  and  hose,  a  red  cloak  and  skull-cap, 
with  a  sword  or  poniard  hanging  from  a  belt.  Pose. — 
Standing;  trumpet  to  the  mouth,  with  an  attitude  and 
expression  of  blowing  very  hard.  (Fill  the  cheeks  with 
cotton.)  "Pity  "is  a  young  girl;  slight  figure;  light 
hair,  and  an  angelic  expression.  Dress. — A  robe  of 
apple-green  (intellect  and  love).  Pose. — One  hand  ex- 
tended to  heaven,  and  the  other  appealingly  to  "  Re- 
venge," with  a  look  of  love  and  tenderness.  Here  is  an 
opportunity  for  a  most  exquisite  and  graceful  pose,  and 
a  fine  dramatic  ensemble. 

Jealousy. — A  man ;  sandy  hair,  pale  face,  of  a  greenish- 
yellow  (sickly  hue);  corners  of  the  mouth  drawn  down;  the 
whole  expression  sullen  and  frowning.  Dress. — Shapes, 
doublet,  hose  and  mantle  in  harmonious  shades  of  green. 
Pose.— Standing  or  sitting  ;  shoulders  up  ;  head  bowed; 
brows  down,  and  eyes  looking  up  through  shaggy  brows; 
holding  a  violin  (or,  if  sitting,  a  bass-viol),  with  the  bow- 
arm  hanging  limp  and  impotent.  Near  by,  on  the  right 
hand  and  the  left,  stand  "Love"  and  "Hate,"  with 
uplifted  hands,  and  their  eyes  fixed  upon  "  Jealousy." 
These  are  represented  by  two  children,  in  guise  of  Cupid 
and  Mephistopheles.  The  former  a  blonde,  in  a  pink 
slip,  with  bare  arms,  legs  and  feet,  a  full  quiver  upon  his 
back,  and  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hands.  Paint  the 
toes,  fingers  and  chin  red  ;  add  dimples  by  putting  a 
small  white  spot  in  each  cheek  and  in  the  chin.  "Hate" 
or  Mephistopheles  is  a  brunette,  in  red  and  black ;  a 


210  HELEN  POTTERS 

black  skull-cap,  with  a  long  red  quill  stuck  upon  one  side, 
long-pointed  sock-shoes,  a  belt  and  breech-cloth.  Suit 
may  be  all  of  Jersey  cloth. 

7.  Melancholy. — A  young  lady;  pale,  tall,  slender  and 
willowy,  sloping  shoulders  and  drooping.  Dress. — A 
flowing  Greek  robe,  i.  e.,  a  sleeveless,  loose  dress  and 
peplura ;  or,  if  preferred,  an  Empire  robe  of  lavender 
color,  sandals,  bracelets,  armlets  and  anklets.  Pose. — 
Side  view,  classical ;  sitting,  one  knee  over  the  other,  and 
hands  clasped  over  the  knee,  with  interlacing  fingers 
(the  outline  showing  a  curved  back  and  one  sandaled 
foot,  elevated) ;  the  hair  carelessly  caught  up,  and  the 
face  upturned,  as  expressed  by  the  poet :  "With  eyes  up- 
raised as  one  inspired." 

8.  Cheerfulness. — A  young  girl ;  happy  and  contented, 
with  a  bright,  cheerful,  smiling  face.  Dress. — Greek 
robe,  or  Empire  gown,  of  violet  or  combined  shades  of 
heliotrope  (physical  and  mental  vigor),  and  a  quiver  full 
of  arrows  at  her  back.  Pose. — Side  view,  standing  on 
tiptoe  ;  "  a  bow  across  her  shoulders  flung,,'  and  two 
fine  young  athletes  posing  near  her,  "  Exercise  "  and 
"  Sport."  They  are  two  handsome  young  men  of  excel- 
lent model,  supple  and  strong,  and  dressed  in  sporting 
costumes.  1st  Athlete,  "  Exercise,"  is  brown  and  vigor- 
ous. Dress. — Red  and  yellow,  or  red  and  some  other 
color.  Pose. — A  graceful  gymnastic  position,  e.  g.,  spring- 
ing to  catch  a  ball  over  head,  or  leaping.  2d  Athlete, 
"  Sport,"  is  a  blonde  of  vivacious  temperament.  Dress. — 
Crimson  and  gray,  or  orange,  i.  e.,  a  costume  in  which 
red  (physical  force)  figures  conspicuously.* 

9.  Joy. — A  boy ;  jovial,  rosy  and  vivacious ;  a  brunette. 
Dress. — Yellow,  bordering  on  orange ;  shapes,  trunks, 
jacket  and  sandals ;  upon  the  head  a  crown  of  vine  leaves. 
Expression,  gay  and  laughing.  Pose. — Standing ;  play- 
ing the  violin,  while  "Love"  and  "  Mirth  "  pose  as  danc- 
ing to  the  music.  "  Love  "  is  represented  by  a  beautiful 
young  girl  in  yellow  ;  "  Mirth  "  by  a  boy  full  of  frolic 
and  fun,  dressed  fantastically  in  gay  colors.  For  an 
encore,  "Joy"  drops  the  violin  and,  bow  in  hand,  joins 
in  dancing.      Dancing-positions  are  endless  in  variety, 

*  The  colors  herein  set  forth  to  typify  the  passions  accord  with  the  author's 
understanding  of  their  significance;  others  may  have  a  different  interpreta- 
tion, and  are  at  liberty  to  use  their  own  correspondences. 


IMPERSONA  TIONS.  21 1 

and   can   be   rendered   exceedingly  graceful,  e.  g.,  in  a 
circle,  hands  up,  and  one  toe  just  touching  the  floor,  etc. 

THE  POEM  IN  ACTION. 
In  case  a  full  orchestra  and  full  stage  arrangements  are 
available,  with  colored  lights,  storm-boxes,  etc.,  this  poem 
could  be  enacted,  stanza  by  stanza,  in  magnificent  style. 
The  primitive,  wild  forest  scene,  with  an  arbor  wherein 
Music  dwells,  her  "instruments  of  sound"  hanging  from 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  her  light  or  golden  harp  well 
defined  against  a  dark  background,  etc.  Also,  a  distinct 
sense  of  the  power  of  color  could  be  produced  by  means  of 
colored  lights,  typical  of  each  successive  passion  :  Fear, 
gray;  Anger,  red  ;  Despair,  black ;  Hope,  light  blue ;  Re- 
venge, crimson  ;  Pity,  apple-green ;  Jealousy,  green,  with 
flashes  of  pink  in  the  darkness  for  Love  and  Hate,  which 
alternate  in  the  moods  of  Jealousy  ;  Melancholy,  lavender; 
Cheerfulness,  violet  or  heliotrope,  with  flashes  of  red,  orange 
and  purple  for  Exercise  and  Sport.  Then  the  storm  effects 
could  be  applied,  lightning  to  accompany  Fear ;  thunder 
with  Anger  and  Revenge;  whistling  wind  with  Despair, 
sighing  wind  with  Melancholy,  etc. 

THE  POEM  IN  MARBLE. 

All  good,  single  figures,  or  groups  not  too  large,  could  be 
put  into  marble,  if  desired,  and  a  grand  gallery  of  statuary 
form  the  chief  feature  of  the  recital. 

Dress  and  Make-op  for  Statuary. — Apply  a  liquid  preparation 
called  "  Clown's  White  "  to  the  face,  neck,  arms  and  hands.  Smooth 
it  evenly  over  the  surface,  with  the  palms  and  finger-tips,  and  add  a 
wig  made  of  white  cotton,  or  cotton-wool.  The  drapery  must  corres- 
pond with  the  copy.  It  may  be  a  robe,  toga,  or  cloak,  of  white,  or 
cream-white  cashmere.  For  temporary  service,  soft  cheese-cloth  will 
answer  very  well.  Remember,  however,  that  the  color  must  be  the 
same  throughout,  to  represent  marble  ;  the  face,  wig,  drapery,  all 
alike  in  color.  Stand  upon  a  low  pedestal,  and  let  the  drapery  con- 
ceal the  feet  and  fall  to  the  floor  or  near  it. 


212  HELEN  POTTERS 


SILENT    LETTERS. 


A  Study  of  Visible  Expression. 

Appealing  to  the  Eye  alone. 

Students  well  trained  in  physical  expression  can  make  a  most  in- 
teresting display  by  means  of  prepared,  sealed  letters,  conveying 
various  kinds  of  news.  These  letters  are  to  be  opened  and  silently 
read  in  presence  of  the  spectators,  the  contents  to  be  made  apparent 
by  attitude  and  action  only  ;  i.  e.,  by  physical  expression. 

EXAMPLES,  DISPLAYING  VARIOUS  EMOTIONS. 

1.  A  dunning  letter — Annoyance,  contempt,  etc. 

2.  A  sad-news  letter — Surprise,  grief,  etc. 

3.  An  insulting  letter — Anger,  rage,  disgust,  etc. 

4.  A  funny  letter— Mirth,  laughter,  etc. 

5.  Of  losses,  disaster,  ruin — Surprise,  remorse,  despair,  etc. 

6.  A  love  letter — The  gamut  of  the  sentimental. 

Suggestions  how  to  read  these  letters  may  be  of  great  service  to 
students  who  have  little  or  no  opportunity  for  proper  physical  train- 
ing, and,  at  the  same  time,  serve  as  a  basis  for  elaboration  by  others. 
Effective  action  must  necessarily  partake  of  the  nature  of  the  actor, 
since  the  same  emotions  are  expressed  in  divers  manners  by  divers 
people.  One  is  explosive,  another  suppressed,  another  paralyzed  un- 
der the  same  sentiment  or  feeling,  and  your  action  should  bear  some- 
what of  your  personality.  Remember  that  posture  and  gesture  can 
be  seen  much  farther  than  facial  expression,  the  latter,  in  a  large  au- 
ditorium, being  often  lost  to  spectators  beyond  the  first  rows;  yet 
avoid  exaggeration,  otherwise  you  may  appear  more  the  contortionist 
or  clown  than  the  artist. 

A  Dunning  Letter — Annoyance,  Etc. 
Look  at  the  envelope,  turn  it  over,  look  again.  Examine 
the  post-mark  ;  raise  the  eyebrows,  and  open  it  with  a  show 
of  indifference.  Read  it,  contract  the  brows,  feel  of  the 
pocket,  and  toss  the  head  with  eyebrows  lip  and  eyes  half 
closed.  Throw  the  letter  over  the  shoulder  upon  the  floor ; 
tap  the  foot,  and  whistle  or  hum  a  tune  very  carelessly. 

A  Sad-news  Letter — Surprise,  Grief,  Etc. 
Sit  at  the  table   upon  which  the  letters  lie  unopened 
[normo-mejital]  ;    open    the    letter    aud    read.    [Surprise.] 


2 M PER  SON  A  T10NS.  213 

Squint ;  [astonishment]  rise  to  your  feet ;  [stupor]  stare  with 
wide  open  eyes,  brows  down,  etc.  ;  recover  yourself,  sigh, 
awake,  and  return  to  the  letter ;  read,  winking  fast,  and 
turn  the  head  from  side  to  side,  as  you  follow  the  lines  back 
and  forth.  [Conviction.]  Give  up  and  sink  down,  crushing 
the  letter  in  the  left  hand,  and  swaying  the  body  to  and 
fro.  [Agnny  and  rebellion.]  Writhe,  rise,  groan,  etc.  [Sub- 
mission.] Weep,  relax  all  the  muscles,  and,  with  face  heav- 
enward and  right  hand  uplifted,  melt  into  prayer,  aftd 
show  submission  to  the  Divine  will ;  or,  if  preferred,  kneel, 
drooping  the  head  and  hands,  and  bend  over  toward  the 
floor  in  a  state  of  total  abandonment  to  grief. 

An  Insulting  Letter — Anger,  Rage.  Etc. 

[Indifference.]  Look  the  letter  over,  open  it,  turn  to  the 
inside  signature,  leaning  back  in  the  chair,  the  head  turned 
aside.  [Interest.]  Read  the  letter,  increasing  in  action  ;  sit 
up  and  bring  the  letter  nearer  the  eyes  [Surprise.]  Bring 
down  the  eyebrows,  open  wide  the  eyes  and  mouth;  turn 
the  eyes  rapidly  from  one  side  of  the  letter  to  the  other ; 
again  look  at  the  signature,  date  and  envelope.  [Anger.] 
Read  again,  frown,  set  the  teeth,  bend  forward,  clench  the 
fist,  and  tap  the  foot  impatiently.  [Rage.]  Crush  the  letter, 
rise,  pace  the  floor  to  and  fro,  shake  your  fists,  halt,  make 
a  sound  of  disgust,  "  ugh,"  and  throwing  it  violently  upon 
the  floor,  stamp  upon  it. 

Note. — Two  or  three  vocal  sounds,  during  the  action  6i 
this  letter,  may  add  to  the  effect;  an  "ugh!  ""ha!" 
"  m ! "  or  something  of  this  sort ;  but  repeated'  too  often 
would  seriously  mar  the  performance.  t\'"; 

A  Funny  Letter — Smiles,  Laughter,  Etc. 

This  letter  can  best  be  read  in  the  performer's  own  style 
of  mirthfulness  ;  therefore,  no  full  directions  will  be  given. 
To  smile,  to  press  your  lips  together  and  explode  in  laugh- 
ter, to  hold  your  sides  and  "  ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  or  to  titter  and 
giggle  and  laugh  suppressedly,  must  be  a  matter  of  choice 
and  of  nature  combined.  No  directions  could  be  given  to 
suit  all.  . 

A  Bad-news  Letter — Ruin,  Disgrace,  Etc. 

This  varies  from  the  sad-news  letter  in  that  remorse, 
despair,  and  even  insanity  maybe  touched  upon  in  expres- 


214  HELEN  POTTERS 

sion.  Imagine  loss  of  reputation  ;  disgrace  by  some  care- 
less act.  of  your  own  ;  the  loss  of  a  dear  friend  by  neglect 
or  abuse ;  loss  by  flood  or  tire,  by  sea  or  calamity  of  other 
sort ;  the  loss  of  a  loved  one  or  the  loss  of  property  which 
causes  sorrow  and  suffering  to  family  and  dependents,  etc. 

A  Love  Letter — Sentimental. 
Look  at  the  envelope  on  all  sides,  and  with  trembling 
hands  open  the  letter.  Sigh  and  look  to  the  signature  at 
the  end  of  it.  Smile,  read,  and  sigh  ;  turn  about,  holding 
it  close  to  your  heart.  Rise,  fold  it  up  hastily,  look  about 
you  as  if  fearful  of  discovery,  hide  it  behind  you,  then  open 
it  again  and  look  at  the  signature  ;  kiss  it,  fold  it,  and  put 
it  in  your  bosom. 

A  Study  of  Audible  Expression. 
Appealing  to  the  Ear  only. 

How  much  you  can  express  by  the  voice  alone  can  be 
tested  by  reciting  a  brief  selection,  poem  or  speech,  while 
standing  behind  a  screen.  Stripped  of  all  the  assistance 
which  comes  of  youth,  beauty,  grace,  artistic  attire,  or  the 
charm  of  an  agreeable  and  magnetic  presence,  your  vocal 
work  will  undergo  a  severe  test. 

The  writer  experienced  a  test  of  this  kind  when  called  to 
entertain  an  audience  of  blind  people.  The  impersonations 
were  useless  in  such  a  case,  for  the  make-up,  dress,  wigs, 
walk,  etc.,  would  go  for  nothing,  and  plain  readings  and 
recitations  were  substituted  in  their  place.  Dressed  with 
due  care  and  something  of  elaboration,  as  usual  for  enter- 
tainments elsewhere,  the  reader  was  escorted  to  the  hall, 
where  the  audience  were  assembled  and  awaiting  the  per- 
formance. The  usual  effect  of  an  entrance  was  lost,  of 
course  ;  also  the  opening  salutation,  the  deferential  bow, 
which  ordinarily  puts  the  audience  en  rapport  with  the 
artist. 

As  the  reader  looked  upon  the  expectant,  sightless  faces 
around  her,  and  felt  the  trustful  repose  of  all  those  intelli- 
gent hands  which  lay  so  peacefully  upon  their  laps,  as  if 
listening  and  expectant  too,  the  question  came  to  her: 
"  How  can  I  satisfy  these  waiting  souls  ?  Here  soul  unto 
soul  speaketh ;  all  else  is  vanity,  indeed !  Whether  I  be 
old  or  young,  awkward  or  graceful,  homely  or  beautiful,  in 
calico  and  bare  arms,  or  satin  and  Paris  gloves,  is  of  no 


IMPERSONATIONS.  2lS 

moment  to  them.  The  uplifted  eyes,  the  pleading  hands, 
smiles,  frowns,  hopes,  fears,  each  and  every  einotiou  and 
sentiment  must  be  heard,  for  none  can  see !  The  tears 
must  be  in  the  voice,  all,  all  in  the  voice !  May  the  Great  Spirit 
abide  with  me,  and  dwell  in  every  tone,  every  word,  every 
sentence  I  utter  this  night !  " 

Indeed,  no  better  test  of  your  voice-work  can  be  made 
than  to  read  or  recite  to  an  intelligent  blind  person.  If  he 
is  satisfied,  you  have  succeeded  well.  In  reading  dialogues, 
see  that  the  characters  are  kepi,  distinct,  each  from  the 
other,  in  quality  and  movement  of  voice.  Emulate  Mr?. 
Fanny  Kemble  Butler,  who  could  keep  six  or  eight  charac- 
ters individual  and  distinct,  so  that  any  one  could  tell  at 
any  time  which  is  speaking.  If  you  can  do  this,  then  you 
can  read  well. 

Tripartite  Expression. 
Appealing  to  the  Ear,  Eye  and  Feeling. 

Three  renderings  of  the  same  story,  if  well  done,  is  a 
most,  curious  and  interesting  performance.  Select  a  short 
story  or  poem,  one  that  can  be  clearly  told  by  gesture  or 
pantomime,  and  commit  it  thoroughly. 

(1)  Tell  the  story  without  gesture,  or  emotion,  or  any 
physical  action  not  strictly  necessary  ;  behind  a  screen  if 
preferred. 

(2)  Tell  the  same  story  in  pantomime,  without  words. 

(3)  Recite  the  poem  with  all  the  embellishments  and  ora- 
torical effects,  voice,  action,  feeling,  etc.,  and  with  a  musi- 
cal accompaniment  or  background. 

A  comical  effect  can  be  produced  by  two  persons,  one  to 
recite,  the  other  to  pantomime  at  the  same  time,  the  recita- 
tionist  apparently  unconscious  of  the  pantomimic  display. 
If  available,  a  party  of  pantomimists  can  perform  in  unison, 
and  keep  time  by  silent  dancing  or  occasional  light  gym- 
nastics, in  the  rear  of  the  speaker. 


216  HELEN  POTTER'S 


OTHELLO. 


A   STUDY   OP   TOMMASO   SALVINI. 


[Text  from  his  acting  copy  of  Shakespeare's  Othello.) 

Argument.— Othello,  the  Moor,  was  commander  of  the  Venetian  army. 
Iago  was  his  ensign  or  ancient.  Desdeinona,  the  daughter  of  Bra- 
bantio,  the  senator,  fell  in  love  with  the  Moor,  and  he  married  her ; 
but  Iago,  by  insinuation,  falsehood,  and  villainy,  wrought  a  thread 
of  circumstantial  evidence  against  the  innocent  wife,  so  that  Othello, 
■aroused  to  jealousy,  smothered  her  with  a  pillow,  and  then  killed 
himself. 

Act  I.,  Scene  I.— A  dark  street.     Scene  II.— Council  Chamber. 

When  in  Act  I.  Othello  is  set  upon  by  the  venerable  Brabantio  and 
his  party,  for  stealing  his  daughter,  he  coolly  advises  them  to  put 
up,  .or  rather 

Ree1^  up  your  bright  swords,  for  the  dew  will  rust  them. 

Good  signior,  you  shall  more 

Command  with  years,  than  with  your  weapons. 

■They  call  him  names,  taunt  and  abuse  him,  saying  he  must  be 
subdued  ;  conscious  of  his  superior  strength,  he  replies  : 

Were  it  my  cue  to  fight,  I  should  have  known  it  without  a 

^prompter. 

And  adds  in  a  most  conciliatory  tone  and  manner  : 
Where  will  you  that  I  go,  |  to  answer  this  charge  ? 

fiMiey  answer  rudely  : 
To  prison,  till  fit  time  of  law  call  thee  to  answer. 

'Then,  in  his  answering  question,  the  officer  and  diplomat  appear : 

What  if  I  do  Oo°bey  ? 

How  may  the  °Duke  |  be  therewith  satisfied, 

Whose  messengers  |  are  here  about  my  side, 

Upon  some  present  business  of  the  °state, 

To  bring  me  to  °him  ? 

The  court  is  convened,  and  awaits  the  coming  of  the  Moor.  The 
Duke  and  the  senators  are  stationed  on  the  right ;  the  guard,  in 
armor,  at  the  rear ;  while  Brabantio,  Cassio,  Iago,  and  others  enter 


IM PERSONA  TIONS.  217 

from  the  left,  and  await  the  issue.  Brabantio  makes  the  charge,  and 
Othello  is  called  upon  to  answer.  Then  comes  the  Moor's  famous 
plea,  beginning-  with  :  "  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors." 
Othello  steps  forward,  and  with  dignity  addresses  the  court.  He 
makes  few  gestures,  and  no  display  of  oratory  ;  but  proceeds  to  nar- 
rate the  circumstances  of  his  acquaintance  with  Desdemona,  and  of 
their  mutual  attachment.  The  mighty  warrior  is  cool  and  pacific, 
both  in  speech  and  maimer  : 

Othello.  Her  father  loved  me,  oft  invited  me, 
Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  |  to  year, — the  battles,  |  sieges,  |  "fortunes, 
That  I  had  passed. 

I  ran  it  through,  |  even  from  my  °boyish  days,  j 
To  the  very  moment  |  he  bade  me  tell  it ; 
Wherein  I  spake  |  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
01  moving  accidents  |  by  flood  and  field,  | 
Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  |  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach,  | 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe" 
And  sold  to  slavery ;  of  my  Ore°demption  |  thence. 

My  story  being  done  | 
She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  (\)  °world  of  sighs. 
°She    swore,    0in    faith,    'twas    strange,     'twas    °passing 

0strauge  ; 
'Twas  (  \)  °pitiful,  'twas  (\)  °wondrous  pitiful. 
She  wished  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  wished 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man  ;  she  thanked  me ; 
And  bade  me,  0if  I  had  a  friend  (/)  that  loved  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  °my  Ostory, 
( / )  And  that  |  would  °woo  her.     Upon  °this  0hint  | 

I  spake. 
She  (\)  °loved  me  |  for  the  cdangers  |  I  had  passed,  | 
(/)  And  I  loved  °her  |  0that  she  did  °pity  0them; 
(\)  This  only  |  is  the  (\)  ° witchcraft  |  I  have  used. 

Othello  steps  back  and  puts  out  his  hand. 

(/)  Here  comes  the  °lady  ;  (\)  °let  her  witness  it. 

All  turn  to  look  at  Desdemona,  as  she  enters.     Her  father,  standing 
by  the  senators,  and  near  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  addresses  her : 


218  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Brab.  (\)  °Come  hither,  0gentle  mistress; 
( — )  Do  you  perceive  |  in  all  this  noble  company 
Where  °most  |  (\)  °y°u  owe  obedience? 

Desdemona  advances  to  the  front  near  her  father,  and  answers: 

Des.  My  noble  father, 
(/)  I  do  perceive  here  |  a  °divided  0duty. 
My  life  and  education  |  °both  (/)  do  learn  me 
( \ )  °How  to  respect  you  ;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty. 

Othello  advances  and  listens  eagerly. 

(■/)  I  am  hitherto  |  °your  daughter; 

She  pauses,  looks  back,  and  pointing'  to  Othello,  adds  : 

but  here's  ||  0my  °husband. 

Othello  turns  and,  pressing  his  clasped  hands  to  his  breast,  nods  to 
Iago,  as  to  say  :  "  See,  she  is  mine,  of  her  own  free  choice,  and  you 
see  she  loves  me  !  ah,  how  sweet,  how  beautiful  she  is  !  "  As  she 
continues  her  speech,  he  turns  his  head  from  side  to  side,  smiling 
and  admiring  her,  looking  excessively  proud  and  happy,  and  so  sure 
of  her  that  every  one  unconsciously  smiles  too,  in  an  outburst  of 
human  sympathy.  Brabantio  speaks  in  a  kindly  tone,  which  Othello 
welcomes  as  a  harbinger  of  peace  and  good-will. 

Brab.  (\)  °God  be  with  you  !  0I  have  done. 

(\)  °Come  hither,  Moor,     [Othello  advances.] 

I  here  do  give  thee  that  |  with  all  my  heart, 

Othello  throws  up  his  hands  in  gratitude,  and  impulsively  holds 
them  out  toward  Brabantio. 

°Which,  0but  that  thou  hast  already,  °with  all  my  heart,  || 

(/•  ■?•)  °°I  would  keep  from  thee  ! 

At  this  sudden  and  violent  turn  of  manner,  Othello  starts  back,  over- 
whelmed with  surprise  and  disappointment  ;  but  he  soon  becomes 
severe  and  reserved.  Then  follows  the  Duke's  order.  A  military 
expedition  must  be  undertaken  at  once,  and  Othello  must  go  and 
leave  Desdemona  behind.  Now  comes  struggle,  keen  and  swift, 
between  his  duty  as  commander  of  an  army,  and  his  duty  to  this 
beautiful,  new-found  treasure,  who  needs  his  protection  and  tender 
care.  Her  father*  is  angry  and  cruel  ;  she  must  not  go  to  him.  To 
entrust  her  to  strangers,  alas !  that  would  never  do.  So  he  begs  the 
court  to  provide  for  her  as  becomes  her  station.  Desdemona,  upon 
her  knees,  now  implores  permission  to  go  with  him  to  the  wars. 
Othello  tenderly  raises  her  and,  with  his  arm  about  her,  assures  the 
court  that  he  will  not  prove  remiss  in  his  duty  to  the  state  if  Desde- 
mona be  permitted  to  have  her  way.     The  request  being  granted,  he 


IMPERSONATIONS.  219 

consigns  his  beloved  wife  to  the  care  of  his  friend,  "  honest  Iago,"  to 
escort  her  to  camp,  while  he  attends  to  important  matters  necessary 
to  the  expedition.  The  court  adjourns,  and  as  they  pass  out  {centre) 
all  bow  to  Othello  and  Desdemona.  When,  last  of  all,  Brabantio 
passes  them,  Desdemona  rushes  toward  him  with  extended  hands, 
mutely  imploring-  forgiveness.  Brabantio  pauses  and,  without 
noticing  her,  addresses  Othello  in  words  that  sting,  like  a  poisoned 
arrow,  projecting  the  last  one  with  unutterable  cruelty,  accompanied 
by  a  grand  nourish  of  the  hand  : 

(\)  °Look  to  her,  Moor,  |  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see  ; 

(/)  She  has  deceived  her  ° father,  |  and  may  ||  °°THEE  ! 

Then  with  long  strides  he  makes  his  exit,  pursued  by  the  infuri- 
ated Moor.  Suddenly  Othello  pauses  ;  the  thought  seems  to  come  to 
hiin  :  "If  I  smite  her  father,  I  smite  her."  He  reels  with  emotion, 
hurries  to  her  side,  wraps  his  cloak  about  her  trembling  form,  and 
moves  swiftly  away  with  her  {left). 


Act  II.,  Scene  I. — A  fortified  town  on  the  Island  of  Cyprus. 

In  front  of  the  castle,  Montano  and  several  officers  are  discovered. 
Enter  Desdemona,  with  Emilia.  Iago,  and  othei-3.  Being  assured 
that  this  beautiful  lady  is  the  wife  of  the  General,  they  kneel  to  do 
her  honor.  She  inquires  after  her  lord,  and  some  light  conversation 
follows ;  during  this  time  Oassio  takes  her  hand  and  speaks  to  her  in 
a  low  voice.  Iago  notes  this  for  after  use,  to  excite  the  Moor  to  jeal- 
ousy. At  this  point  Othello  is  announced.  He  conies  upon  the  scene 
with  impetuous  speed,  seeking  his  bride.  Radiant  with  delight,  she 
runs  joyfully  forward  and  meets  him  half  way.  At  sight  of  her  he 
pauses,  throws  up  his  hands  and,  with  a  quick  glance  to  heaven,  ex- 
claims, in  tones  of  deep  gratitude  : 

( \)  °0h,  my  fair  warrior  ! 

They  embrace  and,  slowly  moving  forward  to  the  centre  of  the 
scene,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her  face,  he  continues  his  rhapsody : 

Oth.  (\)  °Oh,  ray  soul's  joy  ! 
If  after  every  tempest  |  come  °such  0calms, 
May  the  winds  blow  |  till  they  have  °wakened  0death  ! 
(/)  A.nd  let  the  laboring  barque  |  climb  hills  of  seas 
(/)  Olympus-high,  |  and  duck  again  |  as  low 
As  "hell's from  Gheaven  !     If  it  were  now  |  to  die,  j 
Twere  now  |  to  be  most  happy;  for,  I  fear, 
My  soul  hath  her  content  °so  (/)  Oabsolute, 
( — )  That  not  another  comfort  |  like  to  this,  | 
0Suc°ceeds  |  in  ( \ )  °unknown  fate. 


220  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Des.  The  heavens  forbid, 
But  that  our  loves  and  comforts  |  should  0in°crease 
(\)Even  as  our  days  do  grow  ! 

Oth.  °Amen  Oto  °that,  °sweet  Opowers  ! 

(\)  I  cannot  speak  |  Oe°nough  j  of  this  content ; 

It  stops  me  here ;  it  is  too  much  of  joy. 

He  strokes  her  hair  and  holds  her  close,  with  his  hand  on  her  head  ; 
turns  her  face  up  toward  his,  and  moves  his  head  right  and  left,  as  if 
drinking-  from  her  soul's  beauty  ;  then  kisses  her  tenderly,  and  moves 
forward  with  her. 

Oth.  Come,  let  us  to  the  castle. 

News,  friends ;  our  wars  are  done,  the  Turks  are  drowned. 

How  does  my  old  acquaintance  of  this  isle  ? 

[To  Des.]  0Honey,  you  shall  be  wrell  desired  |  in  Cyprus; 

I  have  found  great  love  amongst  them. 

(\)  °0  my  sweet, 

I  prattle  out  of  fashion,  and  I  dote 

In  mine  (\)  own  comforts.     I  pr'ythee,  good  lago, 

Go  to  the  bay,  and  disembark  my  coffers. 

0Come,  Desdemona. 

Exeunt  all  but  lago  and  Roderigo,  and  the  scene  darkens  ;  it  is 
night,  lago  now  contrives  to  get  up  a  drunken  brawl  in  the  street,, 
which  ends  in  a  fight.  Othello,  disturbed  in  his  slumbers,  rushes  ex- 
citedly forth  in  his  dressing-gown,  with  a  red  cloak  over  his  shoulders. 

Oth.  "What  is  the  matter  here  ?     °°Hold  |  for  your  lives  ! 

°For  Christian  shame,  put  by  this  barbarous  brawl ; 

He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage, 

Holds  his  soul  light ;  he  dies  |  upon  his  motion. 

0Honest  lago,  |  that  lookst  dead  with  grieving, 

Speak,  |  (\)  cwho  began  this  ? 

Othello  stands  haughtily,  and  glares  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
rioters.  lago's  answer  exonerates  himself,  and  injures  those  he  de- 
sires to  ruin. 

Oth.  ° What !  and  in  a  town  of  war, 
The  people's  hearts  [  °brimful  Oof  fear, 
To  manage  private  and  domestic  quarrels  ! 
(gut.)  c'Tis  °monstrous ! 


IMPERSONATIONS.  221 

Desdemona,  hearing  the  uproar,  and  fearful  lest  something  serious 
has  happened  to  her  loiM,  rushes  upon  the  scene  in  dishabille.  At 
sight  of  his  frightened  wife,  Othello  again  becomes  incensed  at  the 
affair,  and,  in  angry  tones,  orders  them  away.  Then  taking  off  his 
cloak  he  wraps  it  about  her,  and  hurries  h«r  away  (right). 


Act  III.,  Scene  III. — Cyprus.     A  room  in  the  castle. 

This  scene  opens  with  an  interview  between  Cassio,  who  has  been 
deposed  on  account  of  the  street-brawl,  and  Desdemona.  Emilia,  her 
attendant,  is  also  present.  Cassio  implores  her  on  his  knees  to  inter- 
cede with  the  Moor,  in  his  behalf ;  and,  pitying  him,  she  promises 
to  do  everything  in  her  power  to  restore  him  to  position  and  favor 
with  her  lord.     Othello  and  Iago  enter  in  time  to  see  Cassio  depart. 

logo.  °Ha!  (\)  °I  like  not  that. 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  say  ? 

Iago.  Nothing,  my  lord ;  I  know  not  what. 

Iago  says  this  as  if  he  had  thought  aloud  and  would  conceal  it. 

Oth.  0Was  not  that  Cassio  |  parted  from  my  wife  ? 

Iago.  Cassio,  my  lord !     No,  |  sure",  JJuatting]  I   cannot 
think  it, 
That  he  would  steal  away  so  ( \ )  °guilty-like, 
Seeing  you  coming. 

Oth.  I  do  believe  'twas  he  [with  lowering  brows]. 

Des.   [advancing],  oHow  °now,  |  0my  °lord  ! 
I  have  been  talking  with  a  °suitor  0here"; 
A  man  that  languishes  |  in  your  displeasure. 

Oth.  0Who  °is  it  |  you  mean  ? 

Des.  °Why,  |  your  lieutenant,  °Cassio.  (/)  Good, my  lord, 

[Othello  bends  an  inquiring  look  upon  her] 
If  °I  |  have  any  grace  or  power  to  move  you, 
His  present  reconciliation  °take  ; 
For  if  he  be  not  one  |  0that  °  truly  Oloves  you, 
That  errs  in  ignorance,  |  and  not  in  cunning, 
I  have  °no  0 judgment,  [  ( \)  in  an  honest  face. 

Oth.  Went  he  hence  now  ? 

Des.  °Ay,  Osooth;  Oso  chum0bled  [her  hand  on  his  arm] 
That  he  hath  left  °part  ,of  his  "grief  |  (\)  with  me, 
0To  suffer  with  him.     °Good  Olove,  |  (\)  °call  him  back. 


222  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Oth.  °Not  Onow,   0sweet  Desdemona;  (\)  °some   other 
time.     [He  puts  his  arm  about  her  affectionately.] 

Des.  °But  shall  't  be  Oshortly  ? 

Oth.  The  °sooner,  0sweet,  J  Ofor  °you. 

Des.  {/)  Shall  't  be  to-night,  |  0at  °supper  ? 

Oth.  °Nof  Onot  Oto-Onight. 

Des.  To-morrow,  ° dinner ,  0theh  ? 

Oth.  [restless].  {/)  I  shall  not  |  0dine  at  °home ; 
I  meet  the  °captains,  |  at  the  °citadel. 

Moves  away  from  her  annoyed  ;  she  follows. 

Des.  0Why,  °then,  |  to-morrow  night,  [or  Tuesday  morn; 
Or  °Tuesday  Onoon,  or  night;  or  (\)  °Wednesday  morn. 
I  pr'ythee  "name  the  0time ;  but  let  it  not 
Exceed  three  days ;  °in  0faith,  j  he's  °penitent. 
(\)  °When  shall  he  come  ? 
0Tell  me,  O0thello.     [He  moves  about  uncomfortable,  but  not 

angry.]  (\)  °I  wonder  |  in  my  soul, 
What  °you  Ocould  ask  °me,  ||  that  I  should  deny, 
Or  stand  so  (\)  °mammering  on.     What!  Michael  Cassio, 
That  came  a  ° wooing  0with  you;  and  so  many  a  time, 
When  I  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 
Hath  °ta'en  Oyour  °p"art,  to  have  so  °much  Oto  °do 
To  bring  |  him  |  m!  (\ )  Trust  me,  (\)CI  could  do  |  °much— 

Oth.  [takes  her  to  his  side  and  speaks  kindly].  Pr'ythee,  no 
more  ;  0let  him  (\)  °come  when  he  will ; 
(/)  I  will  deny  thee  |  °nothing. 

Des.  [surprised].  °Why,  (\)  this  is  not  a  boon  ; 
'Tis  as  I  should  entreat  you  |  wear  your  gloves, 
Or  |  feed  on  nourishing  dish*es,  |  or  |  keep  you  warm, 
Or  sue  you  |  to  do  a  peculiar  profit 
To  your  own  person.     0Nay,  when  °I  0have  a  °suit, 
Wherein  I  mean  to  touch  your  love,  |  0indeed 
It  shall  be  full  of  °poise  |  and  °difficult  weight, 
0And  fearful  |  to  be  granted. 

Oth.  I  will  deny  thee  |  nothing. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  223 

He  takes  her  white  face  between  his  brown  hands  and  gazes  search - 
ingly  into  her  eyes  ;  then,  melting  into  tenderness,  he  kisses  her 
twice  upon  the  forehead. 

Whereon    I    do    beseech    0thee,    (\)  °grant    me    this. 

(-  -)  To  leave  me  |  but  a  little  |  to  myself. 

Des.  Shall  1  deny  you  ?    0No.    (\)  °Farewell,  my  lord. 

[He  accompanies  her  to  the  door.] 

Oth.  °Fare0well,   my   0Desdemo"na;   I'll    come    to    thee 

straight. 

Des.  Emilia,  come.     [To  Othello.]     Be  [  as  your  fancies 

teach  you. 

What(\)°e'er  you  be,  [  °I  am  o°bedient. 

[Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia.] 

Oth.   (gut.)  0Per°dition  °catch  0my  soul, 

(-  -)  But  I  do  |  love  |  thee !  |  and  when  1  °love  0thee  °not, 

(\)  °Chaos  |  0is  ccome  |  0again. 

Iago.  My  noble  lord — 

Oth.  [starting,  and  angry  at  being  overheard].  What  dost 

say,  Iago? 

Iago  [insinuating].  Did    |    Michael    Cassio,  |  when   you 

wooed  my  lady, 

Know  of  your  love  ? 

Oth.  0lie  °did,from  °nfst  °to  Jast.  Why  dost  thou  °a"sk? 

Iago.  (\)  "But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought, 

No  further  harm. 

Oth.  (\)  °Why  of  thy  thought,  Jago? 

Iago.  I  did  not  |  think  |  he  had  been  |  0  acquainted  with 

her. 

Oth.  Oh,  yes;  and  went  between  us  veiy  oft. 

Iago.  Indeed  ! 

Oth.  Indeed  !  ay,  0in°deed ;  discernst  thou  aught  in  that  ? 

Is  he  not  honest  ? 

Iago.  °Honest,  0my  lord  ! 

Oth.  °Honest,  "ay,  °honest. 

Iago.  My  lord.  |  for  aught  I  know. 

Oth.  (/)  0What  dost  thou  °thmk? 


224  HELEN  POTTER'S 

logo.  Think,  my  lord ! 

Oth.  [impatient].  Think,  my  lord  ! 
0By  heaven,  he  °echoes  me, 

As  if  |  there  were  some  "monster  |  in  his  thought, 
Too  hideous  j  to  be  shown.     [To  lago.]     Thou  dost  °mean 

Osomething. 
I  heard  thee  say  but  now,  thou  lik'dst  not  that, 
(-  -)  oWhen  Cassio  left  my  wife.  (\)  °What  didst  not  like  ? 
And  when  I  told  thee  he  was  of  my  counsel, 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  |  thou  criedst  "  indeed!  " 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  if  thou  then  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit.     (\)  If  thou  dost  love  me, 
(\)  °Show  me  [  0thy  "thought.     [Rises.] 

lago.  My  lord,  |  you  know  |  I  love  you. 

Both  move  to  the  centre  of  the  scene,  and  Othello  takes  Iago's  hand. 

Oth.  {/)l  think  thou  °dost ; 

And — for  I  know  thou'rt  full  of  love  and  honesty, 

Aud  weighst  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  them  breath — 

0There°fore,  these  Ostops  of  thine  |  fright  me  the  °more. 

For  such  things  in  a  false,  disloyal  0knave, 

Are  tricks  of  Ocus°tom  ;   but  in  a  man  that's  Just, 

They're  closed  relations,  working  from  the  heart, 

That  °pas0sion  |  cannot  °rule. 

lago  continues  to  mystify  and  excite  mistrust,  and  makes  the 
famous  speech  : 

Who  steals  my  purse  |  steals  trash  ;  |j  'tis 

Something,  |  nothing.     (/)  'Twas  mine,  (\)  'tis  his,  || 

And  has  been  the  slave  to  thousands. 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  |  my  good  name,  | 

Robs  me  of  that  |  which  (\)  °not  enriches  him,  | 

(/)  And  makes  °me  |  Opoor  |  indeed. 

Othello  vibrates  from  love  to  jealousy  ;  from  confidence  to  doubt. 
lago  departs,  and  Desdemona  enters.  To  account  for  his  agitation, 
Othello  claims  to  suffer  much  pain  in  his  head.  She  endeavors  to 
bind  her  handkerchief  about  his  brow,  but  he  flings  it  upon  the  floor, 


IMPERSONATIONS.  225 

and  they  pass  out  together.  Emilia  enters  and  picks  up  the  hand- 
kerchief, delighted  because  her  husband,  Iago,  has  often  importuned 
her  to  steal  it  for  him.     He  enters  and  takes  it  away  from  her. 

Iago  stands  afar  and  unobserved.  Othello  enters  (right)  in  great 
distress  of  mind,  and  talking  to  himself.  Iago  speaks,  and  the  Moor 
is  filled  with  disgust  and  rage  at  having  been  overheard  ;  with  in- 
creasing vehemence  he  addresses  Iago. 

Oth.  (gut.)  If  thou  dost  slander  tier,  |  and  torture  me,  | 

( — )  Never  |  pray  |  more  ;  abandon  0Oall  remorse. 

On  hori-or's  head,  |  °°horrors  accumulate, 

Do  deeds  |  to  make  °heaven  0weep,  all  °earth  0amazed; 

For  mottling  |  °canst  Othou  |  to  Odam°natioh"add 

(---)  Greater  than  that ! 

During  this  speech  he  becomes  furious.  He  pursues  the  cowering 
Iago  to  the  extreme  (left)  front  of  the  stage  ;  seizes  him  by  the  collar 
and  crushes  him  to  the  ground.  Not  satisfied  with  that,  he  takes  him 
by  the  top  of  his  head  and  flings  him  over,  flat  upon  his  back,  and 
raises  his  foot,  like  an  infuriated  Samson,  to  stamp  upon  him.  Sud- 
denly he  pauses  and  staggers  back,  crying,  in  fearful  tones:  *' No, 
no,  no  !  "  Then  he  returns,  reaches  down  and  takes  him  by  the  hand, 
and  pulls  him  upon  his  feet.  No  sooner  is  Iago  upon  his  feet,  than 
Othello  sends  him  spinning  from  him  with  the  intensest  loathing  and 
disgust.  After  having  exhausted  his  rage,  he  listens  to  Iago.  and 
once  more  trusts  him.  Then,  in  confidence,  Iauro  tells  how  Cassio  has 
Desdemona's  handkerchief ;  how  he  talks  of  her  in  his  sleep,  and  of 
love,  until  Othello  is  convinced  of  her  guilt,  and,  upon  bended  knee, 
swears  vengeance  upon  them  both.  Iago  is  now  happy  ;  he  will  suc- 
ceed in  his  villainy. 


Act  III. — Scene,  a  room  in  the  castle  at  Cyprus. 
This  act  opens  with  a  scene  between   Desdemona  and  Emilia,  con- 
cerning a  lost  handkerchief. 

Des.  Where  should  I  lose  that  handkerchief,  Emilia  ? 

Emit.  I  know  not,  madam. 

Des.  Believe  me,  I  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse, 
Full  of  cruzadoes  ;  and  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind,  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 

Emit.  Is  he  °not  Jealo'us  ? 

Des.  Who,  he  ?     I  think  the  sun  where  he  was  born 
Drew  all  such  humors  from  him. 

Emit.  Look,  where  he  comes. 


226  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Des.  I  will  not  leave  him  now  till  Cassio 
Be  called  to  him.     [Enter  Othello.] 
How  is  't  with  you,  my  lord  ? 

0$.  Well,  my  goodlady.  [Aside.]  Oh,  hardness  to  dissemble ! 
Give  me  your  hand. 

He  takes  her  hand  and  looks  at  the  palm,  places  his  other  hand 
over  it,  and  discourses  upon  its  qualities  and  their  significance,  and 
finally  asks  her  to  lend  him  her  handkerchief. 

Oth.  0Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

Des.  Here,  0my  °lord.     [He  returns  it.] 

Oth.  (\)  That  which  I  gave  you.     [She  hesitates.] 

Des.  ( \ )  I  have  it  not  |  Oa°bout  0me. 

Oth.  °No? 

Des.  No,  ( \ )  indeed,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That  is  a  °fault.     That  handkerchief 
Did  an  Egyptian  |  to  my  mother  give. 
She  was  a  charmer,  |  and  could  almost  read 
The  thoughts  of  people.     She  told  her,  |  while  she  kept  it, 
Q'Twould  make  her  "amiable,  |  and  0subcdue  my  0father 
Entirely  |  to  her  love ;  |  but  ||  if  she  °lost  it,  || 
Or  made  |  a  gift  of  it,  ||  my  father's  eye 
Should  hold  her  loathed,  |  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 
After  °new  0fancies.     She,  dying,  gave  it  me, 
And  bade  me,  |  when  fate  would  have  me  wive,  | 
To  give  it  tier.     0I  °did  s5;  (/)  and,  take  heed  on  't, 
Make  it  a  darling  |  like  your  precious  eye ; 
To  lose  |  or  give  't  away  |  0were  °such  (/)  Operdition 
( — )  As  nothing  else  could  match. 

Des.  °Is  't  Opossible  ?     [  Wringing  her  hands.] 

Oth.  'Tis  true;  0  there's  °magic  j  in  the  °  web  of  it. 

Des.  Then  would  to  heaven  |  that  I  |  had  never  seen  it. 

Oth.  [starting].  Hal  wherefore  ? 

Des.  Why  do  you  speak  so  °startlingly  |  and  rash  ? 

Oth.  [fiercely].  Is  't  lost  ?    Is  't  gone  ?    Speak,  is  it  out  o' 
the  way  ? 

Des.  (\)  °Heaven  bless  us  J 


IMPERSONATIONS.  227 

Oth.  Speak  ! 

Des.  f  It  is  °not  Olost ;  ( \)  but  what  an'  if  it  °were  ? 

Oth.  HaT  how? 

Des.  I  say,  |  it  is  °not  °lost. 

Oth.  0oFetch  't ;  let  me  see  it. 

Des.  [starts  to  go  for  it].  Why,  so  I  can,  sir,  [pauses]  but  I 
will  not  now      [Returns.] 
(\)  This  is  a  "trick  |  to  put  me  from  my  °suit. 
Pray  you,  let  Oassio  be  0re°ceived  0 again. 

Oth.  [pacing  to  and  fro  in  anger].  (\)°Fetch   me   that 
handkerchief ;  my  mind  misgives. 

Des.  Come,  come.     [Failing  to  understand.] 
(\)  You'll  never  meet  |  a  more  0sufficieht  man. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief, — 

Des.  I  pray,  |  ( \ )  talk  me  of  |  °Cassio. 

Oth.  The  "handkerchief, — 

Des.  A  man  that  all  the  time 
Hath  founded  his  °good  Ofortunes  |  on  your  love ; 
^Shared  Qdangers  with  you — 

Oth.  [pacing  up  and  down],  (asp.)  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  In  sooth  you  are  to  blame  [approaches  him]. 

Oth.  [throws  her  from  him],  ° Away  !   [Exit  Othello  in  rage.] 
[Enter  Emilia.] 

Emil.  Is  not  this  man  jealous  ? 

Des.  I  °ne'er  saw  this  |  Obe°fore. 
Sure,  there's  some  ° wonder  |  in  this  handkerchief. 
I  am  most  °uh°happy  |  (/)  in  the  loss  of  it. 
(-  -)  Something  sure,  of  state,  hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit. 

Emil.  Pray  heaven  it  be  °state  0matters,  as  you  think, 
And  no  jealous  toy  concerning  you. 

Des.  (\)  °Alas  the  day !  (/)  I  never  gave  him  cause. 

Emil.  But  jealous  souls  |  will  not  be  (\ )  °answer'd  so. 
They  are  not  °ever  jealous  for  the  cause, 
But  jealous  |  for  they  are  °jealous ;  'tis  a  monster, 
Begot  upon  0it°self,  °born  Oon  0itself. 


228  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Des.  [sadly].  Heaven  keep  that  monster  J  from  Othello's 

mind ! 

Emil.  °Lady,  0ameh  f     [Exeunt.] 

In  the  fourth  act,  Desdemona  is  abused,  and  in  great  grief.  Still 
ignorant  of  the  true  cause  of  her  lord's  strange  conduct,  she  uncon- 
sciously continues  to  add  fuel  to  the  tire  of  his  jealousy  At  last, 
overcome  by  his  feelings,  he  falls,  face  down,  upon  a  sofa,  and  sobs 
aloud  After  this  outburst,  she  is  made  acquainted  wiih  the  charges 
brought  against  her.  Then  follow  such  protestations  of  innocence, 
such  deep  grief,  as  should  move  a  heart  of  adamant  ;  but  he  is  not 
convinced,  and  with  both  hands  to  his  bowed  head,  and  groaning  in 
agony,  he  strides  away,  and  she  is  left  upon  her  knees,  still  weeping 
bitterly. 

Act  V.,  Scene,  Desdernona's  bed-chamber. 

Enter  Desdemona  and  Emilia.  They  go  to  the  dressing-table, 
which  is  on  the  right. 

Des    ( p.)  "He  hath  commanded  me  to  go  to  bed, 
And  bade  me  to  dismiss  yoii. 

Emil.  Dismiss  me  ? 

Des.  It  was  his  bidding ;  therefore,  |  good  Emilia, 
Give  me  my  night- wearing,  and  adieu ; 
(\)  We  must  not  Onow  0dis°please  him.     [#*fe.] 

Emil.  I  would  you  had  never  °seen  0him  ! 

Des.  ( \ )  °So  would  not  |  °I ;  my  love  doth  °so  Oapprove 
him",  s 

(/)  That  even   °his   |    Ostubbornness,   |  his   °checks,  his 

°frowns, 
0Have  °grace  and  °favor  |  0in  them. 
[/Sighing.]  My  mother  had  a  maid  °called  |  0Barbara; 
She  was  in  °love,  and  °he  she  °loved  (\)°proved  mad, 
And  did  Ofor°sake  0her.    She  had  a  song  |  of  "Willow." 
An  old  thing  'twas,  |  but  it  expressed  her  °for0tune, 
(/)  And  she  died  |  singing  it.     °That  song  |  to-night 
Will  not  go  from  my  mind.     I  have  °much  |  Oto  °do" 
(p.)  (-~)  °But  to  go  hang  my  head  |  all  at  one  side, 
And  sing  it,  |  like  poor  0Barbara.    [Sighs.]    Pr'ythee  dis- 
patch. 

Emil.  Shall  I  fetch  your  nightgown  ? 


1MPLRS0NA  TTONS.  229 

Des.  N6T  unpin  me  |  0here.     [Emilia  takes  down  her  hair 
while  she  sings.] 

Slow  and  wtth feeling. 


1.  The    poor    soul  s;it     sigh  -  ing      by 

2.  The   fresh  streams  ran     by      her      and 

0  0 


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:*^E  si— 


230 


HELEN  POTTER'S 


\Speaks :] 
Lay  by  these  [taking  jewels  from  her  ears], 
[Sings :] 


wil    -   low,       Oh ! 
wil    -    low,       Let 


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no    -    -    bo    -    -  dy  ...    blame  him,    His   scorn      I     ap  - 


[Speaks :] 
Pr'ythee,  hie";  he'll,  come  anon. 
[Sings :] 


IMPERSONA  TIONS. 


231 


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Nay,  that's    not   ngxt.     [Starts.]     Hark ! 
kiiocks  ? 

1£/^.  It's  the  wind. 

Des.  "  /  ca^ed  ray  love  false  lone  ;  but  what  said  he  then  ? 
Sing  Willow,  Willow,  Willow." 
(\)  Get  thee  gone  ;  Ogood-Onight.     [Kisses  her.] 
Mine  eyes  do  itch  ;  doth  that  bode  weeping  ?    [Rises.] 
I  have  heard  it  said  so.    ( \)  °0  these  men,  (\)  °these  0men ! 
Dost  thou  in  conscience  think,  [places  her  hands  on  Emilia's 

shoulders,  and  looks  sadly  into  her  eyes]  tell  me,  Emilia, 
That  there  be  women  do  abuse  their  husbands 
In  such  gross  kincl  ? 

Emil.  ( \ )  °There  be  some  such,  |  Ono  °question. 


232  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Des.   [sighing].  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  |  such  |  woman, 

Emil.  °Yes,  0a  °dozen. 

Des.  °Good-0night,  Ogood-Onight ;  cheaven  help  me.  [Sings 

as  she  passes  across  the  stage,  and  behind  the  curtains  at  the 

rear.     Exit  Emil.] 

"  The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore  tree, 

Sing  all  a  green  willow"  etc. 

Darkness  now  creeps  over  the  scene,  and  an  ominous  silence  fol- 
lows. Cautiously,  Othello  enters  and  slowly  closes  the  door,  and,  like 
a  statue,  stands  some  moments  in  silence  ;  then,  throwing  off  his  red 
cloak,  he  goes  quickly  to  the  curtain  and  looks  in  upon  Desdemona. 
He  returns  to  the  door,  tries  the  knob,  crosses  over,  sits  before  her 
dressing-table,  and  talks  aloud  to  himself. 

Oth.  It  is  the  cause,  j  it  is  the  cause,  |  my  soul ! 

0Let  me  not  (\)  °name  it  to  you,  |  0ye  chaste  stars  ! 

It  is  the  cause.     Yet  I'll  °not  shed  her  cblood, 

Nor  scar  that  (\)  °whiter  skin  of  hers  |  than  snow, 

( — )  And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster, 

(-  -)  Yet  j  she  must  |  die. 

(/)  0Put  out  the  light,  |  0and  °then — 0put  out  |  the  liglil? 

If  I  quench  thee,  thou  naming  minister  [to  the  lamp],* 

I  can  again  |  thy  former  light  °restore, 

(/)  JShould  I  repent  me  ;  but  once  put  out  °thy  0light, 

(■   -)  Thou  cunning  pattern  |  of  excelling  nature, 

I  know  not  °\vhere  |  is  that  Promethean  heat 

0That  can  °re0lume.    When  I  have  plucked  the  rose, 

(-  -)  I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again. 

It  must  needs  °wit.her.     0F11  smell  it  j  on  the  tree. 

He  goes  to  the  curtain,  enters,  and  comes  forth  with  both  arms  over 
his  bowed  head,  hands  clasped,  and  sobbing  aloud. 

0  balmy  breath  |  that  dost  persuade 

Justice  herself  |  0to  break  |  her  sword ! 

One  more,  |  one  more  ! 

He  looks  again  ;  it  thunders  and  lightens,  and  Desdemona  moans 
in  her  sleep  ;  he  pauses. 

Be  thus  |  when  thou  art  dead,  |  and  I  will  kill  thee, 

(/)  And  love  thee  |  °after.     One  more,  |  and  the  last. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  2'33 

He  goes  to  her  yet  once  again,  and  comes  quickly  forth,  exclaiming : 
She  wakes. 

Des.  [opens  the  curtain  with  one  arm  up,  and  the  other  down 
in  graceful  pose].  Who  's  there  ?    Othello  ? 

Oth.  Ay,  Desdemona. 

Des.  (\)  °Will  you  come  to  0bed,  |  (/)  °my  lord? 

Oth.  Have  you  prayed  |  to-night,  Desdemona  ? 

Des.  Ay,  |  my  lord. 

Oth,  If  you  bethink  you  |  of  any  crime 
Unreconciled  as  yet  |  to  heaven  and  grace, 
Solicit  for  it  |  straight. 

Des.  [coming  forward].  Alas,  |  my  lord,  |  (\)  °what  do 
you  mean  by  that  ? 

Oth.  0Well,  °do  it,  |  0and  be  brief. 
(-  -)  I  would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit ; 
°No,  0Heaven  forfend !  I  would  not  kill  thy  °soul.     [He 
paces  a  circle  (right)  and  she  follows.] 

Des.  Talk  you  of  killing  ? 

Oth.  Ay,  I  cfo ! 

Des.  Then  °Heaven  have  mercy  on  me ! 

Oth.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart ! 

Des.  If  you  say  so,  [  I  hope  you  will  °not  0kill  °me. 

Oth.  Hum !   [He  walks  to  the  extreme  right  and  stands  with 
his  back  toward  her  ;  she  follows.] 

Des.  And  yet  I  fear  you,  |  for  you're  °fatal  °then 
When  your  eyes  °roll  so.    °Why  I  should  fear  |  I  know  not, 
Since  (\)  °guilt  I  know  not;  yet  I  feel  |  °I  fear. 

Oth.  [turns  savagely].  0Think  on  thy  sins  ! 

Des.  They  are  °loves  I  bear  |  Oto  °you. 

Oth.  Ay,  and  for  that  |  thou  diest !     [  Walks  to  and  fro.] 

Des.  That  death  's  °unnatural  |  that  kills  for  Oloving. 
Alas !  why  gnaw  you  so  |  your  nether  lip  ? 
Some  bloody  passion  |  shakes  your  very  frame  ; 
These  are  portents ;  but  yet  I  hope,  |  QI  °hope, 
(\)  °They  do  not  point  |  Oon  °me. 


234  HELEN  POTTER'S 

Oth.  Peace,  |  and  be  stTll ! 

Des.  (\)  I  will  so.     (~)  ° What's  the  0matter  ? 
[He  grasps  with  both  hands  her  left  arm.] 

Oth.  (g.)  The  handkerchief  of  which  I  so  loved  and  gave 
thee, 
Thou  gav'st  to  Cassio ! 

Des.  °No,  by  my  life  and  "soul ! 
°Send  for  the  man,  |  and  °ask  0him. 

Oth.  Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 
Take  heed  of  perjury  ;  thou  art  on  thy  death-bed. 

Des.  "Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die  ! 

Oth.  Yes",  |  immediately ; 
Therefore,  confess  thee  freely  of  thy  sm  : 
Thou  art  to  die  ! 

Des.  [kneeling].  Then  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  ! 
And  have  you  mercy,  too  !     I  "never  did 
^Offend  you  |  in  my  life  ;  never  loved  Cassio, 
But  with  such  general  warranty  of  Heaven 
As  I  °might  Olove.     I  "never  0gave  him  0to"ken. 

Oth.  I  saw  the  handkerchief  in  's  hand. 

0  perjured  woman  !  thou  dost  stone  my  heart, 
Des.  He  found  it  then  ; 

1  "never  ( / )  Dgave  it  him  ;  send  for  him  "hither, 
And  let  him  confess  a  "truth. 

Oth.  He  "hath  Oconfessed. 

Des.  He  will  "not  Gsay  so~. 

Oth.  No,  his  mouth  is  stopped. 
Honest  Iago  hath  ta'en  order  for  't. 

Des.  What,  is  he  "dead  ?  [Rising.] 
Alas  !  he  is  betrayed,  |  and  I  |  "undone  !   [To'embling.] 

Oth.  Weepst  thou  for  him  to  my  face  ? 

Des.  0  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not. 

Oth.  [grasps  her  hand].   Down,  false  woman! 

Des.  "Kill  me  to-morrow ;  "let  me  live  |  to-night  I 

Oth.  [dragging  her  along].  Nay,  if  you  strive, — 


IMPERSONA  T10NS.  235 

Des.  °But  half  an  hour — 

But  while  I  say  °one  prayer  !   [She  drives  to  break  away  from 

him.] 

Oth.  It  is  too  late  ! 

They  disappear  behind  the  curtains  ;  then  moans  are  heard,  each 
softer  than  the  one  before,  and  silence  follows.  Loud,  quick  raps  are 
heard  at  the  outer  door  ! 

Emit.  0My  °lord  !  0my  °°lord  ! 

Othello  hastily  thrusts  his  head  outside  the  curtain,  revealing  a  face 
of  terror,  demoniac  and  horrible  to  behold.  The  curtains  are  pressed 
close  about  the  head,  revealing  no  other  part  of  his  person,  and  he 
mutters  in  a  deep  voice,  agitated  by  intense  fear. 

Oth.  What  noise  is  this  ? 

He  disappears,  and  the  rapping  is  repeated. 

Emil.  [calling].  My  lord !  my  lord  !   I'd   speak  a  word 
with  you ! 

Othello  comes  hurriedly  out,  and  running  to  the  door,  listens. 

Oth.  °°Who's  there  ?    [To  himself.]  0Yes— 'tis  Emilia. 
[Aloud.]  °°By-and-by.  [To  himself .]  0Sha's  dead. 
(-  -)  0Tis  like  she  comes  |  to  speak  of  Cassio's  death ; 
( — )  The  noise  was  high  !   [Goes  back  to  look  at  Desdemona.] 
0Ha !  no  more  moving ! 

JStill  as  the  grave  !   [Returns  to  the  door.]  Shall  she  come  in  ? 
Were  't  good  ?    [Three  times  essays  to  unlock  the  door.] 
I  think  she  stirs  again.  [Listens  for  Desdemona  again.]     No ! 

What's  best  to  dp  ? 
If  she  comes  in  |  she'll  sure  to  speak  to  my  wife. 
[Stares  vacantly.]  0My  wife !  |  my  °wife !  ( \)  °I  have  no  wife  ! 
[In  the  broken  voice  of  sorrow.]  Oh,  insupportable  !  oh,  heavy 

hour  ! 
Methinks  it  should  now  be  a  huge  eclip'se 
Of  sun  and  moon  ;  and  that  the  affrighted  globe 
0Should  yawn  |  at  alteration. 

Emil.  [calling].  °I  do  beseech  you 
That  I  may  speak  with  you.     °0  Ogood,  0my  °lord ! 

Oth.  [taking  a  fall  breath,  unlocks  the  door].  0I  had  forgot; 
them.     °0  (\)  °come  in,  Emilia. 


236  HELEN  POTTER'S 

[Opens  the  door.]  (\)  ° What's  the  matter  with  thee  now  ? 
Emil.  [enters   left].  °Oh,   my    good    lord,   yonder's    foul 
murthur  done. 
°Cassio,  cmy  lord,  °hath  killed  a  young  Venetian, 
Called  Roderigo. 

Oth.  Oh,  come  !  what  now  ?  [Desdemona  groans ;  he  paces 
up  and  down,  and  spats  his  hands  to  drown  he?'  moans; 
but  Emilia  hears  her.] 
Emil.  Alas,  what  °cry  is  that  ? 
Des.  [voice  afar].  Oh  !  falsely,  falsely  murthured! 
Emil.  Out,  and  alas  !  that  was  my  lady's  voice. 
[Emilia  runs  behind  the  curtain  and  calls  aloud.] 
Help,  help  !  Ooh,  °help  !    0  lady,  speak  again  ! 
(\)  °Sweet  Desdemona!  0  sweet  mistress,  °speak  ! 
Des.  [faintly].  A  guiltless  death  I  die. 

Emilia  pushes  the  curtain  aside,  revealing  the  sadly  tumbled  bed, 
and  Desdemona  lying-  diagonally  across  it,  her  head  to  the  front,  the 
pillow  on  the  floor,  all  denoting  her  vain  struggle  for  life. 

Emil.  Oh,  who  hath  done  this  deed  ? 

Des.  [in  a  weak  voice  to  save  Othello].  °Nobody ;  ||  I   my- 
self ;  ||  0f are  well ! 

Oth.  Why,  how  should  she  be  °murthured? 

Emil.  [advancing].  Alas!  who  knows? 

Oth.  You  heard  her  say  herself,  |  it  was  not  I. 

Emil.  0She  °said  Oso. 

Oth.  She's  like  a  liar  |  gone  to  burning  hell ; 
0'Twas  °I  0that  killed  her. 

Emil.  Oh,  the  more  °angel  °she,  and  °you  |  the  blacker 
0devil  ! 

Oth.  She  was  false  I  as  water. 

Emil.  Oh,  she  was  heavenly  true  ! 

Oth.  Thy  °husband  |  knew  it  all. 

Emil.  °My  0husband  ? 

Oth.  Thy  husband.     A"y~;  'twas  he  |  that  told  me  first. 

Emil.  °My  0hus°band  ? 


IMPERSONATIONS.  237 

Oth.  What  needs  this  utterance,  |  0  woman  ?    I  say  thy 
°husband. 
Dost  understand  the  word  ? 
My  friend,  thy  °hus0band,  honest,  (\)  °honest  Iago. 

Emit.  If  he  say  so,  |  &may  his  pernicious  soul 
Rot  |  half  a  grain  a  day !     He  °lies  |  to  the  heart ; 
She  was  too  fond  |  of  her  filthy  bargain. 

Oth.  [rises  to  stab  her].  Ha  ! 

Emit.  Do  thy  worst ; 
This  deed  of  thine  |  is  no  more  worthy  °heaven 
Than  °thou  |  (/)  wast  worthy  °her. 

0  gull !  0  dolt !  as  ignorant  as  dirt ! 

Thou  hast  done  a  deed.  [Othello  advances  upon  her  with  his 

sword.]    I  care  not  for  thy  sword  ; 

I'll  make  thee  known  tho'  I  lost  twenty  lives. 

°°Help  !  lielp,  fio  !  help  ! 

°The  Moor  hath  killed  my  mistress !  °°Murthur  !  °°murthur ! 

Enter  Gratiano,  Ludovico,  Iago,  and  others.  Here  follows  a  dis- 
cussion which  reveals  Iago's  true  character,  and  proves  Desdemona 
innocent.  Othello  falls  moaning  into  a  chair,  overwhelmed  by  re- 
morse. 

Oth.  0  Desdemona  !  Desdemona  !  dead  !  oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

He  goes  to  her  bed,  falls  upon  his  knees,  and,  with  arms  across  her 
dead  body  and  his  face  buried  in  the  bed  by  her  side,  gives  vent  to 
such  grief  and  remorse  as  only  a  great,  passionate,  and  impulsive 
being  like  the  Moor  could  feel.  After  the  storm,  he  rises,  draws  his 
scimeter  and  wounds  Iago. 

Cassio.  Dear  General !  (\)  °I  never  gave  you  cause — 
Oth.  [interrupting  him].  That's  he  that  °was  0OthelTo. 

[To  Cassio.]  I  do  believe  it,  and  ask  your  pardon. 

Soft ;  |  a  word  or  two  |  before  you  go. 

1  have  done  the  state  °some  0service,  |  and  they  know  it ; 
( — )  No  more  of  that.     °I  pray  you,  |  in  your  letters, 
When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Speak  of  me  [  ( \ )  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  naught  ]  in  malice.     °Then  must  you  speak 

Of  one  that  loved  °not  0  wisely,  |  but  °too  well ; 


238  HELEN  POTTERS 

Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  |  but,  °being  wrought, 

Perplexed  |  in  the  extreme;  of  one  |  whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Judeah,  |  threw  a  °pearl  &aw~ay 

°Richer  |  0than  all  his  tribe ;  of  one  whose  subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 

Drop  tears  as  fast  |  as  the  Arabian  trees 

Their  medicinal  gum.  (\)  °Set  you  down  this; 

And  °say,  0besides",  that  in  Aleppo  once, 

( — )  Where  a  malignant  j  and  turban'd  Turk 

Beat  a  Venetian,  |  and  traduced  the  state, 

I  took  by  the  throat  |  the  circumcised  dog 

(/)  0And  smote  him —  ||  °thus  ! 

[He  drives  the  scimeter  into  his  throat,  reels  heavily  to  the  floor, 
and  dies.] 


Signor  Tommaso  Salvini,  the  great  Italian  tragedian,  is  a  hale  and 
hearty  man  of  fifty  years  or  more,  who  has  won  universal  praise  for 
his  extraordinary  representation  of  Othello,  Samson,  and  other  pow- 
erful personages  who  figure  in  history  and  literature.  It  is  doubtful 
if  the  Othello  of  this  great  tragedian  has  ever  been  equalled.  It  is 
his  own  ;  he  presents  effectively,  and  in  quick  succession,  the  noble 
Moor  and  the  brave  officer  ;  the  proud,  tender  lover  and  the  jealous, 
cruel  husband  ;  the  enraged  friend  ;  the  terrible  murderer ;  the  fren- 
zied mourner  filled  with  remorse ;  and,  finally,  the  broken-hearted 
suicide. 

His  voice  is  a  basso  profundo,  of  great  power.  It  can  strike  terror 
to  the  heart  of  an  adversary,  or  melt  into  tenderness  ;  and  ring  all  the 
changes  of  grief,  remorse  and  despair. 

Stage-settings,  Costumes,  etc. — For  Act  I.,  Scene  I.,  a  full  stage, 
dark  street ;  a  large  house,  with  a  balcony  upon  the  left  For 
Scene  II.,  a  council  chamber ;  Duke  and  senators  in  red  robes;  tables 
draped  to  the  floor  in  red  cloth ;  the  Duke  (in  a  deep  ermine  cape) 
upon  an  elevated  seat,  between  two  long  tables,  which  extend  along 
the  entire  right  of  the  stage.  The  guard  stand  inside  the  rear  door, 
clad  in  bright  armor,  with  tall  spears  planted  firmly  before  them,  two 
in  advance  of  the  line.  At  the  left  are  seen  Gratiano,  Ludovico,  and 
others.  This  is  the  scene  when  the  curtain  rises.  Othello  enters  left, 
in  white  cloak  and  turban,  and  halts  near  the  centre  of  the  stage.  A« 
he  stands  there  motionless,  with  his  full,  erect  figure  draped  in  white, 
his  brown  face  surmounted  with  the  great  white  turban,  he  looks  like 
a  grand  statue  of  marble  and  bronze.  The  effect  is  instantaneous, 
and  the  magnificent  voice  does  not  detract  from,  but  rather  heightens 
the  first  impression. 


IMPERSONATIONS.  230 

Othello's  costume  is  Moorish  throughout.  For  Act  L,  a  tunic,  simi- 
lar to  the  one  worn  in  Act  III.  (see  below),  but  open  down  the  front 
instead  of  at  the  side,  and  without  the  elaborate  embroidery ;  an  un- 
der garment,  quite  like  Zouave  skirt  or  trousers,  viz.,  full,  reaching" 
to  the  garters,  and  sewn  together  at  the  bottom,  save  at  the  extreme 
right  and  left,  where  the  legs  pass  through  ;  leggins  of  gobelin  blue 
and  embroidered  in  gold,  extending  from  garter  to  instep,  and  meet- 
ing the  Moorish  shoes  of  buff  leather,  with  their  canoe-shaped  toes  ; 
a  red  cap  wound  around  with  the  great  white  turban  ;  an  ample 
white  cloak  which  drapes  the  remainder  of  the  figure,  or  is  carried 
upon  the  left  arm  ;  about  the  neck  a  string  of  metal  beads,  and  a 
huge,  jeweled  scimeter-hilt  protruding  from  the  bosom  of  the  tunic. 

For  Act  II.,  a  coat  of  mail  ;  full  armor  and  a  red  cloak. 

For  Act  III.,  a  tunic  and  trousers  of  oriental  or  gobelin  blue  (a 
color  of  medium  depth  and  tinged  with  green).  The  tunic  is  fash- 
ioned very  much  like  the  Chinese  outer  garment,  but  with  short 
sleeves  (above  the  elbow).  It  is  buttoned  from  the  shoulder-seam  to 
a  point  a  little  below  the  waist-line,  on  the  right,  and  hangs  free  and 
open  below  that  point.  The  bosom,  corners,  and  close  undersleeves 
are  embroidered  with  gold  braid  to  match  the  border,  and  a  pyra- 
mid is  wrought  from  the  middle  of  the  tunic  behind  each  way  ;  one 
from  the  bottom  upward,  and,  inversely,  one  from  the  neck  down- 
ward. A  crimson  sash  is  tied  in  long  loops  on  the  left  side,  and  the 
curved  scimeter  is  thrust  under  it  in  front. 

For  Act  V.,  a  tunic  of  yellow  broadcloth,  open  in  front,  with  six 
large  circular  buttons  or  ornaments  of  the  yellow  cloth,  pinked  about 
the  edges,  and  each  set  with  a  sparkling  stone,  three  buttons  for 
each  side.  Under  the  tunic  is  a  white  shirt  or  blouse,  covering  the 
arms  to  the  wrists,  and  showing  at  the  throat  ;  over  the  whole  a  red 
cloak,  to  be  thrown  off  during  the  first  part  of  the  action. 

Signor  Salvini  (as  did  also  Mme.  Ristori  when  playing  in  this  coun- 
try) gave  the  text  belonging  to  him  in  his  own  tongue  (Italian),  while 
the  rest  of  the  company  spoke  in  English.  Therefore,  the  peculiar 
power  of  his  elocution  is  much  diminished  by  translation.  A  single 
word  in  one  language  may  express  more  than  a  dozen  words  of 
another  language.  The  costumes,  action,  expression  and  general 
effects  of  passion  and  elocution  are  available  ;  the  rest  is  only  approx- 
imate, not  absolute. 


